Cradle tales on Hinduism - Swami Vivekananda

OF 

DI.E.TEXES

THE LIBRARY 

OF 

THE UNIVERSITY 

OF CALIFORNIA 

LOS ANGELES 

COMER BOOK 

SHOP 

102 FOURTH AVEN0E 

NEW YORK 1, M. V.

CRADLE TALES OF HINDUISM

Tne Indian Story -Teller at Nightfall.

CRADLE TALES OF 

HINDUISM 

BY 

THE SISTER NIVEDITA 

(MARGARET E. NOBLE) 

AUTHOR op "THE WEB or INDIAN unt" 

WITH FRONTISPIECE 

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 

39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON 

NEW YORK, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA 

1907 

All rights reserved

TO 

ALL THOSE SOULS 

WHO HAVE GROWN TO GREATNESS BY 

THEIR CHILDHOOD'S LOVE OF 

THE MAHABHARATA

PREFACE 

IN the following stories, it 

may be worth while 

to point out, we have a collection of genuine 

Indian nursery-<strong>tales</strong>. The only discretion which 

I have permitted to myself has been that sometimes, 

in choosing between two versions, I have 

preferred the story received by word of mouth 

to that found in the books. Each one, and every 

incident of each, as here told, has one or other 

of these forms of authenticity. 

To take them one by one, the Cycle of Snake 

Tales is found in the first volume of the Mahabharata. 

The story of Siva is inserted as a necessary 

foreword to those of Sati and Uma. The tale 

of Sati is 

gathered from the Bhagavat Purana, and 

that of the Princess Uma from the Ramayana, and 

from Kalidas' poem of Kumar Sambhaba, "The Birth 

of the War-Lord." Savitri, the Indian Alcestis, 

comes from that mine of jewels, the Mahabharata, 

as does also the incomparable story of Nala and 

Damayanti. In the Krishna Cycle, the first seven 

numbers are from the Puranas works which 

correspond to our apocryphal Gospels and the

viii 

PREFACE 

last three from the Mahabharata. 

The <strong>tales</strong> classed 

as those of the Devotees, are, of course, from 

various sources, those of Druwa and Prahlad 

being popular versions of stories found in the 

Vishnu Purana, while Gopala and his Brother the 

Cowherd is, 

I 

imagine, like the Judgment-Seat 

of Vikramaditya, merely a village tale. Shibi 

Rana, Bharata, and the two last stories in the 

collection, 

are from the Mahabharata. Of the 

four <strong>tales</strong> classed together under the group-name 

" Cycle of the Ramayana," it seems unnecessary 

to point out that they are intended to form a 

brief epitome of that great poem, which has for 

hundreds of years been the most important influence 

in shaping the characters and personalities 

of Hindu women. The Mahabharata may 

be regarded as the Indian national saga, but the 

Ramayana is rather the epic of Indian womanhood. 

Sita, to the Indian consciousness, is its 

central figure. 

These two great works form together the 

outstanding 

educational agencies 

of Indian life. All 

over the country, in every province, especially 

during the winter season, audiences of Hindus 

and Mohammedans gather round the Brahmin 

story-teller at nightfall, 

and listen to his rendering 

of the ancient <strong>tales</strong>. The Mohammedans of 

Bengal have their own version of the Mahabharata. 

And in the life of every child amongst the Hindu

PREFACE 

ix 

higher castes, there comes a time when, evening 

after evening, hour after hour, his grandmother 

pours into his ears these memories of old. There 

are simple forms of village-drama, also, by whose 

means, in some provinces, every man grows up 

with a full and authoritative knowledge of the 

Mahabharata. 

Many great historical problems, which there 

has as yet been no attempt to solve, arise in 

connection with some of these stories. None of 

these is more interesting than that presented by 

the personality of Krishna. In the cycle of ten 

numbers here given under his name, many readers 

will feel a hiatus between the seventh and eighth. 

Now about the year 300 B.C. the Greek writer 

Megasthenes, reporting on India to Seleukos 

Nikator of Syria and Babylon, states that 

" Herakles is 

worshipped at Mathura and Clisobothra 

(Krishnaputra ?). 

It would be childish to 

suppose from this that the worship of the Greek 

Herakles had been directly and mechanically 

transmitted to India, and established there in 

two different cities. We have to remember that 

ancient countries were less defined, and more 

united than modern. Central and Western Asia 

at the period in question were one culture-region, 

of which Greece was little more than a frontier 

province, a remote extremity. The question 

is 

merely whether the worship of Herakles in Greece

x 

PREFACE 

and Phoenicia, and of a Herakles (presumably 

known as Krishna) in India, does not point to 

some distant Central Asian progenitor, common 

to the two, a mythic half-man, half-god, strong, 

righteous, and full of heroic mercy, who leaves 

his impress even on early conceptions of Siva, 

amongst Hindu peoples, 

to be transmitted in 

divergent forms, in long-echoing memories, to 

one and another of the Aryan peoples. 

If so, 

is the Krishna of the Return to Mathura, of the 

Snake Kaliya, of the Mountain and the Demons, 

the Indian version of this Central Asian 

Herakles ? 

We have thus to decide whether the Krishna 

of the Puranic stories here given, and the Krishna 

Partha Sarathi of the Mahabharata, are two, or 

one. On the answer to this depends a great deal 

of history. If 

they are two, 

is Krishna Partha 

Sarathi new at the time of the last recension of 

the Mahabharata, or is he some ancient hero of 

the Aryan peoples, 

with whom Krishna- Herakles 

is then fused, to become the popular 

vehicle of 

Vedic ideas ? In the hands of highly-trained 

Indian scholars competent as no foreigner could 

be to apply the tests of language and of theological 

evolution it is 

my belief that these 

inquiries might receive reliable solutions. I doubt 

that alien opinions could ever be much more 

than interesting speculations. But, in any case,

PREFACE 

xi 

the point of importance to our present purpose 

is that the story of his life, as here set forth, is 

that told to this day by the people amongst 

themselves. 

My special thanks are due for the help afforded 

me in the preparation of this volume to the 

Hindu lady, Jogin-Mother a kind neighbour, 

whose deep and intimate knowledge of the sacred 

literature is 

only equalled by her unfailing readiness 

to help a younger student and to the 

Swami Saradananda of the Ramakrishna Math, 

Belur. The frontispiece, of "The Indian Storyteller 

at Nightfall," and the Thunderbolt of 

Durga on the cover, are the work of the distinguished 

Indian artist, Mr. Abunendro Nath 

Tagore. 

NIVEDITA, 

OF RAMAKRISHNA-VIVEKANANDA. 

CALCUTTA, June 1907.

CONTENTS 

THE CYCLE OF SNAKE TALES 

THE WONDROUS TALE OF THE CURSE THAT LAY 

PAGE 

UPON THE SNAKE-FOLK : AND FIRST OF 

THE SERPENT REALM, BELOW THE EARTH 3 

THE STORY OF THE DOOM OF PARIKSHEET . 

9 

THE SACRIFICE OF JANAMEJAYA . . 

-I? 

THE STORY OF SIVA, THE GREAT GOD . 

27 

THE CYCLE OF INDIAN WIFEHOOD 

SATI, THE PERFECT WIFE. . . . 

35 

THE TALE OF UMA HIMAVUTEE . . 44 

SAVITRI, THE INDIAN ALCESTIS . .'..' . 

53 

NALA AND DAMAYANTI . 

. . . . 

67 

THE CYCLE OF THE RAMAYANA 

THE CITY OF AYODHYA . . . . 

103 

THE CAPTURE OF SITA . . . . . Il6 

THE CONQUEST OF LANKA . . . 

.124 

THE ORDEAL OF SITA 139

xiv 

CONTENTS 

THE CYCLE OF KRISHNA 

PAGE 

THE BIRTH OF KRISHNA, THE INDIAN CHRIST- 

CHILD ..... .153 

THE DIVINE CHILDHOOD . . . . . l6o 

KRISHNA IN THE FORESTS . . . . 1 68 

THE DILEMMA OF BRAHMA . . . . 

174 

CONQUEST OF THE SNAKE KALIYA . . . 180 

THE LIFTING OF THE MOUNTAIN . . . 1 86 

THE RETURN TO MATHURA . . . 

.189 

KRISHNA PARTHA SARATHI, CHARIOTEER OF 

ARJUNA 202 

THE LAMENT OF GANDHARI . . . . 2l8 

THE DOOM OF THE VRISHNIS . . . .228 

TALES OF THE DEVOTEES 

THE LORD KRISHNA AND THE BROKEN POT . 

239 

THE LORD KRISHNA AND THE LAPWING'S NEST 240 

THE STORY OF PRAHLAD . . . . 

.241 

THE STORY OF DRUWA A MYTH OF THE POLE 

STAR . . .. .. ; 

. 

r 

-247 

GOPALA AND THE COWHERD 

256

CONTENTS 

xv 

A CYCLE OF GREAT KINGS 

THE STORY OF SHIBI RANA ; 

OR, THE EAGLE 

PACK 

AND THE DOVE 267 

BHARATA .271 

THE JUDGMENT-SEAT OF VIKRAMADITYA . 

-277 

PRITHI RAI, LAST OF THE HINDU KNIGHTS 

THE INDIAN ROMEO AND JULIET 

. . 288 

A CYCLE FROM THE MAHABHARATA 

THE STORY OF BHISHMA AND THE GREAT WAR 303 

THE ASCENT OF YUDISTHIRA INTO HEAVEN . 

330

THE CYCLE OF SNAKE TALES

CRADLE TALES OF HINDUISM 

The Wondrous Tale of the Curse that lay 

upon the Snake-Folk : and first of the 

Serpent Realm, below the Earth 

IN the world of Eternity, below the earth, lies, 

as is known to all men, the realm of Takshaka, 

the Naga king, and about him dwell mighty 

snakes, hoary with age, and mysterious in power. 

And strange and beautiful is that Snake-world to 

see, though once alone has the eye of man been 

privileged to look thereon, even in the day when 

the youth Utanka, having been sent abroad on 

his teacher's service, and having eaten and drunk 

unwittingly of the nectar of immortality, was 

robbed of the tokens he carried by Takshaka, 

and followed him under the earth to recover 

them for his master. 

For fearless and strong was the youth Utanka, 

disciple of mighty sages, and never was he known 

to flinch from danger, or to turn back because 

the task was arduous. Passing through great 

hardships and many difficulties, he had fared 

forth to bring to his teacher's wife two jewels

4 

belonging to a certain Queen. 

" But mind," said 

his master at starting, "and mind," said the 

Queen, when she gave them, "these ornaments 

are greatly desired by Takshaka, King 

of Serpents. 

See that he rob you not of them by 

the way." 

With high resolve, then, did the youth set forth, 

to return to his preceptor, bearing the jewels of 

the Queen. But as he went by the road he saw 

a beggar coming towards him, who, as he came, 

constantly appeared and disappeared. Then being 

his 

athirst, and coming to a spring, Utanka placed 

casket by the roadside, and bent to drink. At that 

very moment, however, the 

strange beggar turned 

into the terrible Takshaka, and seizing the packet 

glided swiftly away. But immediately Utanka 

understood, and, no way dismayed, followed 

after him. Then Takshaka disappeared through 

a hole in the earth. Yet even here the mortal 

was resolved to follow; so he seized a stick, and 

after him. And it came 

proceeded to dig his way 

to pass that Indra, the King of Gods, looked on, 

and saw that though the youth was high-hearted 

yet his tool was not sufficient, and he drove the 

strength 

of his own thunderbolt into the stick of 

Utanka, till the earth itself gave way before the 

mortal, and he pressed forward through a winding 

tunnel, into the Serpent-world. And when the 

passage ended, he found himself in a beautiful

THE CURSE UPON THE SNAKE-FOLK 5 

region, infinite in extent, and filled with palaces 

and mansions and gardens. And there were 

towers and domes and gateways innumerable, 

and in the gardens were lawns and wrestlinggrounds, 

and all manner of provision for games 

and sports. 

And it came to pass as he went onwards, 

that he saw two women weaving at a loom, 

and their shuttle was fine, and their threads were 

black and white. And he went a little further, 

and came to a great wheel, and it had twelve 

spokes, and six boys were turning And it. further 

still he met a man clad in black, riding on an 

immense horse. 

Now when he had seen all these things, Utanka 

knew that he had come into a world of magic. 

Therefore he began to recite powerful spells, and 

when the man who rode on the horse heard him, 

he said, "Tell me, what boon dost thou ask of 

me?" And Utanka replied, "Even that the serpents 

Then said the 

may be brought under my control." 

man, " Blow into this horse." And Utanka blew 

into the horse. And immediately there issued 

from it smoke and flame so terrible that all the 

world of the serpents was about to be consumed. 

And Takshaka himself, being terrified for the fate 

of his people, appeared suddenly at the feet of the 

youth, and laid there the jewels he had stolen. 

And when Utanka had lifted them, the man said,

6 CRADLE TALES OF HINDUISM 

" Ride on this horse and he will in an instant bear 

master's door." And the heart of 

thee to thy 

Utanka was satisfied with seeing, and he desired 

nothing so much as to fulfil his master's errand, 

therefore he leapt on the horse, and in one 

moment found himself in the presence of his 

teacher, offering to him the tokens for which he 

had been sent. 

And now understood Utanka what he had seen 

in the world of Eternity, beneath the world of 

men. For the loom was the loom of Time, and 

the black and white threads were night and day. 

And the wheel with the twelve spokes was the 

Year with its twelve months, and the six lads were 

the six seasons. And the man clad in black was 

Rain, and the horse on which he rode was Fire; 

for only when heat is controlled by water is the 

world of the serpents ever in contentment. " And 

well is it for thee, my child," said his master to 

Utanka, " that thou hadst eaten and drunk of the 

divine nectar, for without this spell of immortality, 

know that no mortal ever before emerged alive 

from the realms of Takshaka." And the heart of 

Utanka rejoiced greatly, and also he desired much 

to find some means to put an end to the race of 

serpents, so full of mysterious danger to the sons 

of men. And he resolved to make his way to the 

King, and prevail upon him to undertake a warfare 

against them.

THE CURSE UPON THE SNAKE-FOLK 7 

Now a strange and powerful curse lay upon the 

Snake-folk, and great fear dwelt therefore amongst 

them. Long, long ago, in the very beginning of 

time, it had happened that they increased very 

swiftly in numbers, and they were fierce and full 

of poison, and evermore at war with one another, 

and with the race of men. And the gods in 

high heaven trembled lest the Snake-folk should 

end forever the young race of Men-folk. And at 

that time it 

happened one day that Kadru, the 

Mother of Snakes, called on her children to obey 

her in some matter, but they, being wilful and 

mischievous, at first refused. Then did the heart 

of the Mother wax strong and full of anger, and 

thinking she spoke her own will, but really blinded 

by the fear that abode in the hearts of the gods, 

she opened her mouth and called down a curse 

on her own children. " All ye," she said, 

" shall 

perish in the fire-sacrifice that shall be made by 

Janamejaya, the " 

great King Poor children ! ! 

Poor Kadru ! 

Surely never was anything so terrible 

as this, that the destruction of a whole race 

should be brought about by its own mother. 

The awful prophecy was heard through 

all the 

worlds, and for a moment the kind gods were 

relieved that the race of the snakes was not to 

increase forever. 

But when they saw their distress, 

and when they looked also upon their beauty, 

their hearts were filled with pity, and they went


all 

together to Brahma the Creator, and spoke 

before him of the fierceness of Kadru's anger 

against these dear children, the Snake-folk, and 

begged him in some way 

to soften her fearful 

spell. And Brahma granted them that the cruel 

and poisonous serpents alone should be consumed, 

while the others, gentle and playful and affectionate, 

should escape. And then very softly, so 

that one little snake alone was able to hear, having 

crept up to lie near the feet of the Creator, he 

whispered, as if to himself, a promise of redemption. 

In the lapse of ages, he said, a maiden 

should be born of the Naga race, who should wed 

with the holiest of mortal men. And of this 

marriage should be born in due course a son, 

Astika, whose love from his birth should be all 

with his mother's people, and he should defeat 

the doom that lay upon them. 

Now when this promise was published abroad 

in the realms of Takshaka, that whole world was 

greatly comforted ; 

and patiently, and yet sorrowfully, 

waited the Snake-folk, age after age. For 

they knew that their curse was terrible, yet 

that it 

was provided in the counsels of the Creator that 

when their terror should be at its greatest, Astika 

the Redeemer also should be ready, and should 

arise to bid their sufferings cease.

The Story 

of the Doom of 

Pariksheet 

in the forest sat the rishi Shamika. 

SILENT, silent, 

Long had he sat thus, motionless, 

in the shade of 

the huge trees, observing the vow of silence, and 

to no man would he speak, or return any answer. 

Only about his feet played the forest creatures, 

fearless and unharmed, and not far off grazed the 

cattle belonging to the Ashrama. 

Now it 

happened one day while the rishi was 

under the vow, that Pariksheet the King came 

hunting through that very forest. And he was 

a great hunter and loved the chase. Neither had 

any deer, hunted by him, ever yet escaped in the 

woods with its life. But to-day the allurement 

of destiny was upon the King, so that he had been 

successful only in wounding a fleet stag which 

had fled before him. Thus, following on and 

on, and yet unable to overtake his quarry, he 

was separated from his retinue, and as the day 

wore on, came suddenly, in the remoter reaches 

of the forest, upon the hermit Shamika, sitting 

absorbed in meditation. 

" Saw you a deer which I had wounded " ?

io 

CKADLE TALES OF HINDUISM 

cried the King. 

" Tell me quickly which way it 

went!" His face was inflamed with eagerness, 

and his clothing and jewels displayed his high 

rank. But though the saint evidently heard his 

questions, he answered never a word. 

Pariksheet could hardly believe his own senses, 

that one to whom he addressed a question should 

refuse to answer. 

But when he had repeated his 

words many times, all the energy of the royal 

huntsman turned into bitter anger and contempt, 

and seeing a dead snake lying on the earth, he 

lifted it on the end of an arrow, and coiling 

it 

round the neck of the hermit, turned slowly 

about, to make his way homewards. It is said 

by some that ere the King had gone many paces, 

he realised how wrongly he had acted in thus 

insulting some unknown holy man. But it was 

already too late. Nothing could now avert the 

terrible destiny which m's own anger was about to 

bring upon him, and which was already creeping 

nearer and nearer to destroy. 

To Shamika the hermit, meanwhile, insult 

and praise were both alike. He knew Pariksheet 

for a great king, true to the commonwealth, 

and to the duties of his order, and he 

felt no anger at the treatment measured out to 

him, but sat on quietly, absorbed in prayer, the 

dead snake remaining as it had been placed by 

the hunter's arrow. And even thus was he still

THE DOOM OF PARIKSHEET 

n 

sitting, when his son Sringi returned from distant 

wanderings in the forest, and was derided by some 

of his friends and companions for the insult that 

the King had offered, unhindered, to his father. 

Now Sringi's mind was of great power, fully 

worthy of Shamika's son. Not one moment of 

his time, not the least part of his strength, was 

ever wasted in pleasure. His mind and body, his 

words and deeds and desires, were all alike held 

tight, under his own control. Only in one thing 

was he unworthy, in that he had not the same 

command as his father Shamika over the feeling 

of anger. For he was apt to spend 

the fruits 

of long years of austerity and concentration, 

suddenly, in a single impulse of rage. Yet so 

great was he, even in this, that the words which 

he spoke could never be recalled, and the earth 

itself would assist to make good that which was 

uttered by him in wrath. 

When, now, he heard the story of how the 

King, while out hunting, had insulted his aged 

father, the young hermit stood still, transformed 

with grief and anger. His love and tenderness 

for Shamika, his desire to protect him, in his old 

age, from every hurt, with his own strength, and 

his reverence for the vow of silence, all combined 

to add fuel to the fire of rage 

that seemed almost 

to consume him. Slowly he opened his lips to 

speak, and the words ground themselves out


between his teeth. 

" Within these seven days and 

nights, the life of the man who hath put this shame 

upon my father, shall be taken from him, by Takshaka 

himself, the King of Serpents." A chill wind passed 

over the listening forests as they heard the curse, 

and far away on his serpent-throne the terrible 

Takshaka felt the call of the young sage's anger, 

and, slowly uncoiling his huge folds, began to draw 

nearer and nearer to the world of men. 

Shamika's vow of silence came to end with his 

son's return. But when he was told of the curse 

just uttered, he was full of sorrow. "Ah, my 

son," he cried, 

" our King is a great king, 

the duties of 

under his protection 

true to 

his order and the commonweal, and 

it is that we of the forestashramas 

dwell in peace, pursuing 

after holiness 

and learning. 

Ill doth it befit hermits to pronounce 

the doom of righteous sovereigns. Moreover, 

mercy is great, and forgiveness beautiful. 

" 

Let us, then, forgive 

! 

The deep sweetness and serenity of the old 

saint flowed like a healing stream over the 

troubled spirit of his son, and tenderly Sringi 

stooped, to remove the unclean object from about 

his father's neck. But the words that had just 

been spoken had been too strong to be recalled, 

so when Shamika understood this he despatched 

a secret messenger to the King, to warn him of the 

danger that was hanging over him.

THE DOOM OF PARIKSHEET 13 

Then the King, Pariksheet, having heard from 

the messenger that the rishi whom he had insulted 

had been under a vow of silence, and hearing 

also that it was the sage himself who had sent 

him the friendly warning, was filled with regret 

for his own deed. Yet inasmuch as no sorrow 

could now avail to save him, without the utmost 

vigilance on his own part, he hastened to take 

counsel with his ministers. And a king's dwelling 

house was made, into which no living thing could 

enter 

unperceived, and the house was set up on a 

single, column-like foundation, and Pariksheet shut 

himself into it, 

determined that, until the seven 

days and nights had passed, 

he would transact 

both business and worship within its shelter, and 

seek no pleasure outside. 

But now the rumour of 

approaching disaster to 

the King began to go forth amongst his people. 

And as Takshaka drew near to the royal refuge, 

he overtook a Brahmin hurrying through the 

forest in the same direction as himself. Recognising 

the Brahmin as Kasyapa, the great physician 

for the cure of 

snake-bite, and being suspicious of 

his errand, Takshaka entered into conversation 

with him. He quickly found that it was even as 

he had thought. Kasyapa was hastening to the 

court, in order to offer his services in restoring 

the King, when he should be bitten 

the doom. 

according to

i 

4 


Takshaka smiled, and laying a wager with 

Kasyapa that he knew not how powerful his 

poison was, he selected an immense banyan-tree, 

and rearing his head, struck at it with his poisonfang. 

Immediately the great tree, with all its 

roots and branches, was reduced to ashes lying 

on the ground. 

But how much greater 

is 

healing 

than destruction 

! That wise Brahmin, not in the least dismayed, 

stept forward, and lifting up his hands 

pronounced strange words, full of peace and 

benediction. And instantly the banyan - tree 

began to grow again. First came the tender 

sprout, with its two seed-leaves, and then the 

stem grew and put forth fresh buds, and next 

were seen many branches, till at last the whole 

tree stood once more before them, even as it had 

at first been a lord of the forest. 

Then Takshaka offered great wealth and many 

treasures to that master of healing, 

if 

only he 

would desist from his mission and leave his King 

to die. And the Brahmin seated himself for 

awhile in meditation, and having learnt, in his 

heart, that the curse on Pariksheet would really 

be fulfilled, since his destiny would thereby be 

accomplished, he accepted the treasures of Takshaka, 

and consented to remain behind. And the 

great serpent journeyed on through the forest 

alone, smiling 

to himself over the secret bonds

THE DOOM OF PARIKSHEET 15 

of Fate, spun, as these are, 

deeds. 

out of a man's own 

Safe in the royal refuge the King had passed six 

days and nights, and now the seventh had come, 

nor as yet had any snake been so much as seen. 

For it is ever thus. Only when men have ceased 

to fear do the gods send their messengers. 

Now, as the day wore on, the King's heart grew 

light, and towards the decline of the sun there 

came to the door of the mansion a party of 

strange fellows, who seemed to be forest-dwellers, 

bearing presents of fruits and flowers for the royal 

worship. And Pariksheet being graciously disposed, 

received the newcomers, and, asking not 

their names, accepted their offerings. 

When they had gone away, however, the King, 

and his friends and his ministers who were seated 

about him, felt an unwonted hunger for the fruit 

that had just been brought, and with much 

laughter and mirth proceeded to eat it. And in 

that which was taken by Pariksheet himself he saw, 

when he broke it 

open, a tiny copper-coloured 

worm with bright black eyes, but so small as to 

be almost invisible. 

At this very moment the sun 

was setting, and the seven nights and days of the 

doom were almost ended. Pariksheet therefore 

had lost all fear, and began to regret having paid 

so much attention to the hermit's message. So, 

the infatuation of destiny being now fully upon


him, he lifted the creature out of the fruit, and 

said to it 

playfully, " Unless you, O little maggot, 

be the terrible Takshaka, he is not here. Show 

" 

us, therefore, what you can do ! 

Every one 

laughed at the sally, and even as the King, a 

week before, had placed a dead snake contemptuously 

on the rishfs neck, so now, in the 

spirit of mockery, he lifted the insignificant worm 

to the same position at his own throat. 

It was the last act of Pariksheet. Instantly, 

challenged thus by the sovereign's own word, 

the seeming maggot changed 

its form before the 

eyes of the terrified ministers, becoming in one 

moment vaster and vaster, 

till it was revealed as 

the mighty serpent, Takshaka himself. Then coiling 

himself swiftly and tightly about the King's 

neck, and raising his huge head, Takshaka fell 

upon his victim with a loud hiss, and bit him, 

causing instant death.

The Sacrifice 

of Janamejaya 

Now the child Janamejaya succeeded to the crown 

of his father Pariksheet, and wise counsellors 

surrounded his throne and ruled the kingdom in 

his name. And thus quietly passed the years in 

which the young man was growing to manhood. 

Far away in the forest, moreover, was growing 

up at this very time a strange and silent youth, 

by name Astika, whose father had been the 

holiest of mortal men, and his mother the sister 

of a king among the gentler tribes of Snakefolk. 

And Astika was a man, of the nature of 

his father, very saintly and lovable, and full of 

wisdom. But he had lived all his life in the 

snake-realm in the forest. For his father had 

gone away, leaving his mother, even before 

he was born. So all his heart was with his 

mother's people and with his childhood's home. 

Here, then, were the two children of destiny, 

both of the same age, both fatherless, both born 

to be world-changers Janamejaya the King, and 

Astika the Snake-man, Brahmin, and saint. And 

those were the days of the power of Takshaka, the 

Mighty Lord of Serpents.

i8 


Now it 

came to pass, on a day when the young 

King Janamejaya had grown to manhood, that 

there came to him one whose name was Utanka, 

" Avenge 

! ! 

avenge the time is come ! 

crying, 

Visit on the great serpent Takshaka thy father's 

death." And the King began to ask eager questions 

as to why he was fatherless, and how his father, 

had met 

Pariksheet, being the noblest of kings, 

his death. But when they told him the story of 

the hermit Shamika and his son Sringi, and of the 

King's mansion built on a single column, 

and the 

copper-coloured insect concealed in a fruit, the 

mind of the young King put aside all the minor 

circumstances and fixed on the thought of the 

great Takshaka as the enemy of the royal house. 

And he began to brood over the duty of avenging 

the death of his father and protecting the world of 

men from the enmity and mischief of the whole 

serpent race. And behold when the King's purpose 

had grown deep, he raised his head, and said to 

his court of priests and counsellors, "The time 

is come ! now do I desire to avenge 

the death of 

Pariksheet, my father, by causing Takshaka and all 

his people to be consumed together in a blazing 

even as Takshaka himself burnt up my father 

fire, 

in the fire of his poison. Tell me then, ye wise 

men, and tell me, ye my ministers, how may 

I 

out this vow?" 

proceed to carry 

And lo, when these words were heard in the

THE SACRIFICE OF JANAMEJAYA 19 

King's court, a shudder ran through all the world 

of the Snake-folk. For this was the moment foretold 

in the curse that had lain from of old upon 

their race. Janamejaya was that king 

the ages had waited. Now was the hour of their 

peril at hand, nay, even at the very door. And 

for whom 

the Snake-princess began to watch for the right 

her son Astika 

moment, when she must call upon 

to arise and save her race. And because for the 

purpose of this vow had Janamejaya the King 

been born, therefore all power and all 

knowledge 

was found among his advisers. They questioned 

the scholars and consulted all the ancient books. 

And all was finally decided, as to the manner in 

which a royal sacrifice must be performed, for the 

purpose of burning up all the snakes including even 

the great Takshaka himself. All the preparations 

began accordingly. A piece of land was chosen 

and an immense altar built, and all the vessels 

and ornaments were brought together. A great 

army of priests was gathered, the fire was ready, 

and the rice and butter that would be thrown into 

the sacrificial fire were stored up. But when all 

things were ready, it began to be whispered that 

the altar-builders had noted certain omens which 

indicated that a stranger would come and bring 

about the defeat of the sacrifice. So when the 

King heard this he gave orders, before sitting 

down on his throne, that the gates were to be


closed, and no stranger on any account to be 

admitted. 

And now at last the sacrificial fire was lighted, 

and the priests, chanting together the proper texts 

and verses, began to pour the libations of clarified 

butter upon the flames. Oh how strange and 

terrible was the sight next seen ! So great was 

the power of the minds that were concentrated 

upon the sacrifice, that from everywhere near and 

far away the snakes began to come, flying through 

the air, crawling along the ground, and dropping 

from the sky, to throw themselves of their own 

accord upon the fire. On and on they came, 

hundreds and thousands and even millions in 

number, writhing, struggling, and hissing 

in their 

terror ; striving to resist the terrible power that 

was drawing them onwards ; 

but all yielding 

to it and giving themselves to the fire in the 

end. And still the fires 

grew 

hotter and the 

flames brighter, and the chanting of the priests 

rose higher and higher ; 

for their power must go 

out into the uttermost parts of the universe, and 

lay hold on the great Takshaka himself, to draw 

him into the consuming flames. Keenest and 

most intense of all their minds was that of the 

King. His face was dark and sombre, and his 

eyes never wavered as he sat there on his throne, 

following with all his strength the mighty spells 

that the priests were chanting, in order to bring


Takshaka himself into their power, and drag 

him into the midst of the fire ; 

for the royal 

passion of blood-revenge had awakened in him, 

and he thirsted for the life of his father's murderer. 

So the priests chanted, and the King 

watched, and far away the gate 

of the sacrificial 

grounds was held by a trusted officer, whose only 

fault was that he could never refuse to a Brahmin 

anything he asked. 

Hour after hour the sacrifice went on. 

But now 

a strange murmur began to be heard. Takshaka, 

it was said, had fled from his own kingdom and 

found sanctuary in the throne of Indra, God of 

the Sky, and King of all the Gods. 

" " 

I care not ! cried Janamejaya, springing to 

his feet, with shining eyes. 

" For Takshaka there 

shall be no quarter. Let the throne of Indra itself 

" 

fall into the fire and be burnt to ashes ! The 

earth was thrilled to her very core, as, far up 

in the skies, appeared after these terrible words, 

a faint black spot, and all nature knew that the 

throne of the God of Heaven was being drawn into 

the sacrifice. Coiled tightly about it, and hidden 

by the robes of Indra, was Takshaka, and as long 

as he sheltered him, not even the King of Gods 

could resist the dread sentence thus pronounced 

by Janamejaya. Down and down, more and more 

swiftly through space, came the divine seat, and 

all eyes turned upwards, and all hearts seemed to


stand as still, they watched it drawing nearer to 

the royal flames. Then there was a convulsive 

struggle, and the throne of the Sky-father was 

seen to be rising again into the heavens, while 

suddenly the great form of Takshaka himself 

became visible, falling slowly but surely to his 

doom. 

At that very moment a strange yet noblelooking 

Brahmin came forward to the throne of 

Janamejaya, saying, " O King, grant me a boon ! 

The King held up his hand to silence him a 

moment. His eyes were fixed on the mighty 

serpent, whirling downwards through 

Till he was sure of victory he would grant no 

boons, though the 

gods 

" 

the air. 

themselves should be the 

suppliants. But when Takshaka had drawn so 

close that his end was inevitable, he turned to 

the 

stranger, according to the royal custom, and said, 

" Speak 

! for whatsoever thou askest do I 

grant 

" 

unto thee ! 

" Then," said the Brahmin, " let this sacrifice 

" 

be stayed 

! 

The King started forward in dismay. But it 

was already too late. Already 

had the snakes 

ceased to fall into the fire. 

Already was the body 

of the great serpent disappearing in the distance. 

And the priests, finding their texts become suddenly 

unavailing, had ceased to chant, or to pour 

the sacred butter into the fire. For even as the


builders had prophesied, a stranger no other 

than Astika, the Snake-Brahmin 

had entered the 

sacrificial grounds during the ceremonies, and 

now, by the word of the King himself, had 

the intention of the sacrifice. 

brought to nought 

And this entrance of the Brahmin had been the 

one matter in which the King's officer at the gate 

had had no power to obey his sovereign's 

orders. 

the habit of his 

For, as was known to every one, 

whole life had been, never to refuse to a Brahmin 

anything he asked. 

But when Janamejaya had heard everything ; 

when Astika had told him of the curse of Kadru 

that lay upon the Snake-folk, and the promise 

of a redeemer who should save all but the fiercest 

and most dangerous of his mother's people ; 

when 

he told him, too, of his own birth for this very 

purpose of the 

; great fear and sadness that had 

fallen upon the Serpent-world at the commencement 

of the royal sacrifice, and of his mother's 

calling upon him, Astika, to save her kindred, 

then did anger and disappointment vanish from 

the heart of the King. 

He saw men as they really 

are, merely the sport and playthings of destiny. 

He understood that even the death of his father, 

Pariksheet, by the poison of Takshaka, had happened, 

only in order to bring about the will of the 

gods. 

And he turned round to bestow on Astika 

rich presents and royal favours. 

But already was


the mission of Astika ended among mortals, and 

he had withdrawn, unnoticed, from the court of 

the King, to spend the remainder of his days in 

the forests, among the kinsmen of his mother, in 

his childhood's home.

THE STORY OF SIVA, 

GREAT GOD 

THE

The Story 

of Siva, 

the Great God 

IN wild and lonely places, at any time, one may 

chance on the Great God, for such are His 

most favoured haunts. Once seen, there is no 

mistaking Him. Yet He has no look of being 

rich or powerful. His skin is covered with white 

wood-ashes. His clothing 

is but the religious 

wanderer's yellow cloth. The coils of matted 

hair are piled high on the top 

one hand He carries the begging-bowl, 

of His head. In 

and in the 

other His tall staff, crowned with the trident. 

And sometimes He goes from door to door at 

midday, asking alms. 

High amongst the Himalayas tower the great 

snow -mountains, and here, on the 

still, 

cold 

heights, is Siva throned. Silent nay, rapt in 

silence does He sit there, absorbed and lost in 

one eternal meditation. When the new moon 

shines over the mountain-tops, standing 

above the 

brow of the Great God, it appears to worshipping 

souls as if the light shone through, instead of all 

about Him. For He is full of radiance, and can 

cast no shadow. 

Wrapped thus into hushed intensity lies Kailash, 

27


above Lake Manasorovara, the mountain home of 

Mahadeva, and there, with mind hidden deep under 

fold upon fold of thought, 

rests He. With each 

breath of His, outward and in, worlds, it is said, 

are created and destroyed. Yet He, the Great 

God, has nothing of His own; for in all these that 

He has created there is 

nothing not kingship, nor 

fatherhood, nor wealth, nor power that could 

for one moment tempt Him to claim it. One 

desire, and one alone, has He, to destroy the 

ignorance of souls, and let light come. Once, it 

is said, His meditation grew so deep, that when 

He awoke He was standing alone, poised on the 

heart's centre of all things, and the Universe had 

that all darkness was 

vanished. Then, knowing 

dispelled, that nowhere more, in all the worlds, 

was there blindness or sin, He danced forward 

with uplifted hands, into the nothingness 

of that 

uttermost withdrawnness, singing, in His joy, 

" " 

Bom 1 Bom ! And this dance of the Great 

God is the Indian Dance of Death, and for its 

sake is He worshipped with the words " Bom ! 

Bom! Hara! Hara!" 

It is, however, by the face of the Great God 

that we may know Him once for all, beyond the 

possibility of doubt. One look is enough, out of 

that radiance of knowledge, one glance from the 

pity and tenderness in His benign eyes, and never 

more are we able to forget that this whom we

STORY OF SIVA, THE GREAT GOD 29 

saw was Siva Himself. It is 

impossible to think 

of the Great God as being angry. He "whose 

form is 

like unto a silver mountain " sees only two 

things, insight and want of insight, amongst men. 

Whatever be our sin and error, He longs only to 

reveal to us its cause, that we may 

wander in the dark. 

not be left to 

His is the infinite compassion, 

without one shadow or stain upon it. 

In matters of the world, He is but simple, asking 

almost nothing in worship, and strangely easy to 

mislead. His offerings are only bel-leaves and 

water, and far less than a handful of rice. And 

He will accept these in any form. The tears of 

the sorrowful, for instance, have often seemed to 

Him like the pure water of His offering. Once 

He was guarding a royal camp at night, when the 

enemy fell upon Him, and tried to kill Him. But 

these wicked men were armed with sticks of belwood, 

and as they beat Him again and again 

with these, He, smiling and taking the blows for 

worship, put out His hand, and blessed 

their heads ! 

them on 

He keeps for Himself only those who would 

otherwise wander unclaimed and masterless. He 

has but one servant, the devoted Nandi. 

not on horse or elephant, but on a shabby 

He rides, 

old bull. 

Because the serpents were rejected by all others, 

did He allow them to twine about His neck. And 

amongst human beings, all the crooked and hunch-


backed, and lame and squint-eyed, He regards as 

His very own. For loneliness and deformity and 

poverty are passwords sufficient to the heart of 

the Great God, and He, who asks nothing from 

any one, Who bestows all, and takes nothing in 

return, He, 

the Lord of the 

Animals, Who refuses 

none that come to Him sincerely, He will give 

His very Self, with all its sweetness and illumination, 

merely on the plea of our longing or our 

need ! 

Yet is this not the only form in which Siva may 

come to the soul of man. Sometimes the thing that 

stands between us and knowledge 

is 

unspeakably 

dear. Yet is the Great God ever the Destroyer of 

Ignorance, and for this, when our hour comes, 

He will arise, as it 

were, sword in hand, and slay 

before our eyes our best beloved. In the middle 

of 

His brow shines forth the great Third Eye of 

spiritual vision, with which He pierces to the heart 

of all hypocrisy and shams. And with the light 

that flashes from this eye, He can burn to ashes at 

a glance that which is untrue. For foolish as He 

may be in matters of the world, in spiritual things 

He can never be deceived. In this aspect, therefore, 

He is known as Rudra the Terrible, and to 

Him day after day men pray, saying, " O Thou the 

Sweetest of the Sweet, the Most Terrible of the 

Terrible ! 

" 

So runs the tale. 

And yet in truth this thought

STORY OF SIVA, THE GREAT GOD 31 

of the Great God is but half of that conception 

which is known to the intuition of man as the 

divine. Two things there are which we see as 

God. One is 

knowledge, insight Jnanum, as it is 

called in India and this, carried to its utmost 

height, 

is Siva or Mahadeva. But some see God 

rather in power, energy, beauty, the universe about 

us. Indeed, without both of these, either becomes 

unthinkable. Hence Siva has ever a consort in 

Maha Sakti, the Primal Force. Amongst the 

pictures made, and the <strong>tales</strong> told, of Her, are those 

of Sati, and Uma, and the Great Death. She is 

Gouri, the Golden One, the fair, the light of the 

sunrise shining on the mountain snows. And she 

dwells ever in Kailash, as the wife and devoted 

worshipper of that Mahadeva, or Spiritual Insight, 

who goes amongst men by the name of Siva, the 

Great God.

THE CYCLE OF INDIAN 

WIFEHOOD

Sati, 

the Perfect Wife 

LONG, long ago, in the beginning of time, there 

was a god called Duksha, who counted himself 

chief of divinities and men. And it 

happened 

once that a great feast was held, and all the 

gods at the banquet did homage to Duksha, and 

acknowledged him as Overlord. Save one, Siva. 

He, the Great God, was present also, and was 

clad indeed like any beggar, in ashes and pink 

loin-cloth, with staff and bowl. Yet He would 

not bow down and touch the feet of Duksha. 

His motive was pure kindness. We all know that 

there is 

nothing more unlucky 

for an inferior 

than to see one greater than himself prostrated 

before him. It is even said in India that if this 

occurs to you, your head will at once roll off. So 

out of sheer mercy to the Overlord, Siva could 

not do homage, and probably afterwards forgot 

all about the occurrence. But the poor god did 

not understand His reason, and thenceforth counted 

Him his enemy, hating Him with all his heart. 

Now Duksha had had many daughters, but they 

were by this time all married, except the youngest, 

who was so good that she was known as Sati. (For


the word Sati means being, existence, and nothing 

really, you know, exists but goodness ! ) 

In secret Sati's whole soul was given up to 

the worship 

of the Great God. She adored the 

image of Siva day after day, 

and offered before 

it water and white rice, praying that her whole 

life might be passed in loving Him, and Him 

alone. 

In the midst of all this, Duksha declared that it 

was time for her to be married, and announced a 

Swayamvara, or feast of the Bride's Choice. Poor 

Sati ! How could she marry any one else when 

her whole heart was given to the Great God ? 

But the fatal day arrived. In a vast court, on 

splendid thrones, sat all the kings and gods who 

had been invited, in a great circle. Sati came in, 

with her wedding garland in her hand. All round 

she looked. She could tell which were gods, 

because they were lighted from within, so they 

neither winked nor cast shadows, and which 

kings, for they did. Both were there, and she 

might choose any one of them. He would be 

happy, and her father would be glad. They 

glittered with jewels and were gay with gorgeouscoloured 

robes. Again and again she searched 

the place with her eyes, but He whom she looked 

for was not there. It was a terrible moment. 

Then in her despair, Sati stood still in the 

midst of the hall, and threw her flowers up into the

SATI, THE PERFECT WIFE 37 

air, saying, " If I be indeed Sati, then do them, 

" 

Siva, receive my garland And lo ! ! there He was 

in the midst of them, 

it 

wearing round His neck ! 

Her father, Duksha, was choking with rage, but 

what could he do ? The choice of a princess was 

final. So the wedding 

ceremonies had to be 

completed. When that was done, however, he 

called her to him. " " Undutiful child ! he cried, 

" you have yourself chosen this beggar for your 

husband. Now go and live with Him, a beggar's 

wife, but never come back to me or look upon 

my face " 

again ! 

So Siva took her away to Kailash, and she was 

happier there than, in all the dreams and prayers 

of her girlhood, she had ever imagined. One day, 

however, the sage Narada, clothed in his pink 

robes and looking big with important news, came 

to call. He went up to Siva, sitting on a tigerskin, 

deep in meditation, and sat down near Him 

to have a chat. " " 

H'm ! he said, as soon as he 

thought he had Mahadeva's attention, " your fatherin-law, 

Duksha, is arranging 

for a fine festival. 

There's to be a fire-sacrifice with full state-ceremonies, 

and all his family are invited." 

" " That's good said ! Siva, rather absently. 

" But he hasn't asked you ! " said Narada, eyeing 

him curiously. 

" No," said Siva ; 

isn't that fine ? " 

" What ! 

" 

said Narada, beginning to look


puzzled ; 

" don't you mind the insult, 

the terrible 

sacrilege, of offering royal worship without calling 

for the " 

presence of the Great God ? 

" " 

Oh ! said Siva " wearily, if 

only people would 

leave me out of everything, perhaps 

I could get 

rid of this burden of making and destroying 

worlds, and lose myself in one eternal medita- 

" 

tion ! 

Evidently it was impossible to get any fun out 

of a gossip here. Mahadeva was too grateful to 

His father-in-law for leaving Him in peace. 

So Narada turned to tell the news to Sati. All 

her woman's curiosity was roused at once. A 

thousand questions had to be answered. She 

wanted to know about the preparations, and the 

guests, and exactly how the sacrifice and banquet 

were to be " arranged. Finally saying, But I 

must go too!" she turned to find her Husband, 

and Narada, feeling sure that events were afoot, 

hastened away. 

Alone, in Kailash, Sati stood before Siva. " I 

want to go and see the feast ! " she said. 

" But," said He, " you are not asked ! " 

" No daughter could need an invitation to her 

father's house ! 

" 

pleaded Sati. 

" Yes," said Siva, 

" but you, My beloved, must 

not go. 

I fear for you the dreadful insults of those 

who hate Me." 

Then, before the eyes of the Great God, the


very face and person of Sati began to change. 

He had said " must " to her, and now she would 

show Him who and what she was, who loved 

and worshipped Him. So she assumed some of 

her great and terrible forms. She appeared to 

Him ten-handed, standing on a lion Durga, 

the Queen and centre of the Universe. She 

showed herself as the gentle foster-mother of 

the worlds. She became the black and awful 

Goddess of Death. 

Till Mahadeva Himself trembled 

in Her presence and worshipped Her, in turn, as 

His own equal. Then she was the tender and 

devoted Sati once more, pleading 

with Him as a 

mortal wife with her husband. " Even as you 

declare," she said, "we are about to go through 

terrible events. But these things must be, to show 

mankind what a perfect wife should be. Moreover, 

how could harsh words hurt Her, who bears 

" 

in Her heart ? 

all things and beings 

So He yielded, and she, attended by the one 

old servant, Nandi, riding on their old bull, and 

wearing the rags of a beggar's wife, set off for the 

palace of her father, Duksha. 

Arriving there at last, and entering the Hall of 

Sacrifice, she the young and beautiful Sati of a 

few short years before, 

still 

young and even more 

beautiful, but arrayed in such strange guise was 

greeted by peals of laughter from the assembled 

guests. They were her sisters, resplendent in silks

4o CRADLE TALES OF HINDUISM 

and jewels, each seated on the throne of her 

husband, on his left side. 

There at the end of the hall, amongst priests 

and nobles, she saw Duksha about to begin the 

sacrifice. Sati went up and stood reverently 

before her father. When he saw her, however, 

Duksha became furious. "Ho, beggar's wife!" 

he said. 

" Why come you here ? Did I not 

curse you, and drive you from my presence ? " 

" A father's curses are a good child's blessings," 

replied Sati meekly, stooping to the earth to touch 

his feet. 

"Good children do not choose to marry 

beggars!" he replied. "Where is that Husband 

of yours ? Thief, rascal, evil dishonest daughterstealer 

that He is ! 

" 

He was going on to say more, but even he could 

not finish, for 

Sati, blushing crimson, had risen to 

her full height, and her beauty and sorrow made 

her wonderful to look upon. One hand was 

raised, as if to say, " Hush !" 

" Words such as these, my father," she was 

saying, "the faithful wife must not even hear. 

These ears that have listened are yours. You 

gave them to me, for you gave me life, 

and all 

this body. Then take it back. It is once more 

your own. Not for one moment shall I retain it, 

at the cost of such dishonour." 

And she fell dead at Duksha's feet. Every one


rose in horror, and the father himself stood as if 

turned to stone, aghast at the consequences of 

his own words. But there was no hope. The 

beautiful and faithful soul of Sati had indeed fled. 

Then Nandi, her old attendant, set out swiftly 

for Kailash, to report to Siva what had happened. 

But as he did so, shaking in every limb, he turned 

round in the doorway and said, " If you, O Duksha, 

survive these deeds at all, may it be only with 

a goat's head on your human body!" In such 

great moments men see truly, even into the 

future. 

Up in Kailash, Siva was hard to waken from 

His meditation. But when at last He heard and 

understood what Nandi had to tell, 

His wrath and 

grief were without measure. Putting His hand up 

to His head He pulled out a single hair, and cast 

it on the ground before Him. Up sprang a giant, 

armed for war. Him Siva made generalissimo of 

His hosts. Then He shook His matted locks, and 

out of them leapt a whole army of dwarfs, giants, 

and soldiers. These ranged themselves in order 

behind their leader, he behind Mahadeva, and all 

turned to march down upon the abode of Duksha. 

When they reached it, the forces set to work, 

cutting off the head of the King and wrecking the 

to the 

palace. But Siva made His way straight 

body of Sati, and taking 

it 

reverently on His 

shoulders would have left the place.


At this moment, however, came a woman, weeping 

and worshipping His feet. At length the 

sound of her voice penetrated to the ears of the 

grief-intoxicated God. 

" Speak 

! Who 

worships Me ? " He said. 

" It is I, 

the mother of Sati ! 

" Mother, what would you have ? " said He very 

gently. 

" Only that of your mercy ; you will give back 

the life 

of my husband, Duksha." 

" Let him 

" live ! said Mahadeva at once, and His 

servants obediently restored the life taken. 

But Duksha had no head, and his own could 

not be found. "This will do very well/' said the 

general of the army, pointing to the head of the 

goat that had been slain for sacrifice; and some 

one seized it and put 

it on the body of Duksha. So 

there he really was, even as Nandi had said, surviving, 

but with a goat's head on his human body. 

But Siva, bearing the body of Sati, strode forth 

in the grief of a God. To and fro over the earth 

He went. His eyes shot forth volcanic fires, and 

His footsteps shook the worlds. Then Vishnu, to 

save mankind, came behind Siva, and hurled 

" 

His 

discus time after time at the corpse of Sati, till, 

falling piece by piece, with fifty-two blows it was 

at last destroyed, and Siva, feeling the weight 

gone, withdrew to Kailash, and plunged once 

more into His solitary meditation.


But of how Sati was born again as Uma in the 

house of Himalaya the king, of how she strove 

once more for the love of the Great God ; 

and of 

how Siva, with His whole heart on Sati, refused to 

be won, and burnt Eros to ashes with a glance, 

are not these things told, by Kalidas the poet, 

in his great poem of " The Birth of the War- 

Lord " ?

The Tale of Uma Himavutee 

Now Sati was born again on earth as the Princess 

Uma. In the divine regions, long periods of 

our time pass like a single day, and the years that 

were spent in becoming a baby and growing up 

into a woman seemed to Uma a very little thing. 

She knew well who she was, and remembered that 

she had come into the world only that she might 

win Siva once more for her own, and be with Him 

forever. 

This time she had chosen as her father one 

who loved Mahadeva, and would feel deeply 

honoured by having Him for his son-in-law, 

Himalaya, the Mountain-king. Uma was extraordinary 

from her earliest years for her goodness. 

It was not only that every duty was 

faithfully performed, and those rites of purification 

that Siva loves carried out to the last letter, but 

such long hours were spent in worship and in 

fasts of terrible rigour, that her mother often 

implored her to stop, fearing that she would 

lose health, or even life itself. But the Princess 

persisted, for she knew that beautiful as she was, 

her great difficulty in this life would be to make 

44

THE TALE OF UMA HIMAVUTEE 45 

Siva forget Sati long enough even to look at her. 

She must therefore devote all her energy to the 

training of soul and will. Notwithstanding this, 

however, she grew daily more and more lovely. 

And this was not surprising, as you would say, 

if 

you could have seen those wonderful mountains 

that were her home. There the dark cedars toss 

their heads all 

night long against the sky, and 

wild roses and red pomegranate blossoms fill the 

summer with their beauty. There graceful trees 

and delicious fruits abound, and wild flowers 

bloom in profusion. There birds and beasts 

give thanks continually that they exist, and on 

the rugged mountain-tops the snows are as grand 

as the forests below are beautiful. 

With eyes and ears always filled thus, what 

could a maiden do but drink in loveliness and 

draw closer to its spirit day by day ? 

But greatest of all her charms was that pale 

golden tint of skin that is so admired by Hindu 

women. Indeed, she was so renowned for this, 

that to this day only queens in India may wear 

the feet. 

anklets and ornaments of gold upon 

Subjects wear silver, because yellow is Uma's 

own colour, and to touch it with the foot is 

sacrilege. 

Now when Uma was about eighteen, all the 

gods became as anxious as herself for the granting 

of her desire. Their interest in the matter


came about in this : 

way Sometime before, 

Brahma, the Creator, had shown great favour 

to one of the demons, and granted him an 

unusual degree of power. In the strength of 

this gift the recipient had greatly exalted himself, 

and was threatening to usurp the thrones of all 

the lesser divinities. They appealed to Brahma, 

and told their story. The great four-headed 

Father listened to their woe, and smiled indulgently. 

I cannot myself avenge your wrongs," 

" 

he " said, upon one who has received my friendship. 

Do you not know the proverb, 

' 

Even a 

poisonous tree should stand uninjured by him 

who planted 

it ' ? But as I look into the future, 

I 

see that when Siva marries the Princess Uma 

and he can wed no other he will become the 

father of a son who shall lead the armies of heaven 

to victory. Do what you can, therefore, to hasten 

the marriage. You are thereby bringing nearer 

the Birth of the Divine War-Lord." 

The thunder-like voice of the Creator died away 

in space, and the gods consulted as to what 

could be done. In the end, Indra, chief of the 

lesser gods, went to visit Modon, the Indian God 

of Love. 

He and his wife Roti had, living in their 

home, a faithful friend and soldier called Spring, 

and all three listened to the request that Indra 

had come to make. He wished Modon to shoot


one of his invisible arrows into the heart of 

Siva. 

The tall and graceful young god turned pale 

when he understood at last what was wanted. 

It was believed in the divine world that the 

Great God was proof against mortal weakness, 

and the impertinence of attempting to inflict on 

Him the wound of human love was almost too 

much, even for these merry-hearted souls. 

They 

feared failure, and discovery, with the anger of 

Mahadeva. 

Yet they had a strong affection for Indra, the 

God of the Sky. They owed him much. They 

were eager to serve him. At last said Modon, " If 

Spring will go before, and help me, as he has 

always hitherto done, I am willing to try," and 

this promise being extorted, Indra arose and left 

them ; 

but he told them first of the grove in which 

Siva would be found. 

Spring 

Now when Modon set forth to find Mahadeva, 

went before. At his approach and the waving 

of his wand, all the trees in the forest broke 

into blossom without ever a green leaf. Then 

entered Modon, with his beautiful wife, Desire, 

and the world became warm with the friendship 

of the creatures. Birds warbled to each other, 

the wild deer drank out of the forest pools side 

by side ; 

the hum of insects rose on the breeze ; 

even the flowers seemed to pass under the

4 8 

gracious influence, and bend buds and bells a 

little 

nearer. 

On came the Archer, Love, in the footsteps of 

his friend, till, near the heart of the wood, he 

found what he sought a magnificent old cedar, 

and spread beneath its shade a black leopard-skin 

for meditation. The next moment an old man 

appeared, and held up his " 

hand, saying, "Hush ! 

It was Nandi. Instantly, perfect silence fell upon 

everything. The forest stood as if 

painted on 

the air. No breeze stirred a single leaf. The 

birds remained on the boughs, with throats opened 

to sing, but no sound came forth. The insects 

hung on the wing motionless, and the bees, drawing 

near to sip honey from the flowers of Modon's 

bow, made a thick line like a black arch above 

it, or covered the quiver, made of blossoms, like a 

veil, as still as death. 

Then Modon saw a white form shine forth 

and take shape 

beneath the cedar. It was Siva 

Himself, whom he awaited. Motionless, under 

the tree, sat the Great God, lost in His reverie. 

In the middle of His forehead was a faint black 

line, like a wrinkle, but slightly tremulous. And 

Modon's heart beat faster, for he realised that 

this was the great Third Eye of Mahadeva, capable 

of flashing forth fire at any time, and he knew not 

when it 

might open. Here was the opportunity 

that he wanted, but even now he dared not shoot,


since there was none near by on whose behalf 

awaken love. Gradually, however, 

to 

the forest was 

returning to life from the long swoon imposed 

on it 

by Nandi, and as it did so, the very helper 

that Modon needed came in sight, for the most 

beautiful girl that he had ever seen entered the 

wood. Her manner and bearing were royal, and 

she wore the silken robe of prayer. It was Uma, 

the Princess of the Mountains, come to offer her 

morning worship to Siva. 

The slender form of the young 

hidden amongst the trees as she passed 

Archer was 

on to the 

feet of the Great God. Absorbed in His presence, 

she knelt before Him, and He opened His eyes 

and smiled upon His worshipper. 

At this moment the audacious Modon drew 

his bow and made ready to take aim. Scarcely 

a second was it, yet the thought entered the mind 

of Mahadeva that the lips of this maiden were very 

red, and then, ere the idea was fully formed, a 

mighty wave of horror swept over him, the great 

Third Eye had opened and sought the source of 

the vain impulse, and where the too venturesome 

God had been on the point of sending forth his 

dart, lay now, only a handful of ashes, in the form 

of a man. 

A second later the luminous figure of Siva had 

faded out from beneath the cedar, and Uma knelt 

alone to make her offerings. 

D

So 


But the grove was filled with the voice of 

lamentation. Desire, the beautiful wife of Love, 

was not to be consoled, that one flash of anger 

had not destroyed her with Modon. And she 

called on Spring, as her husband's friend, to build 

the funeral-fire in which she might die and follow 

him. At this moment, however, the voice of 

Indra rang through the wood. " " 

Sweet lady 

! it 

pleaded, " do nothing rash ! It is true that you are 

separated from your husband for a while. But in 

a few months the work he began here will be 

completed, and when Mahadeva weds Uma, He will 

of His free grace restore the life of Modon 

also. Only wait patiently." And Spring prevailed 

upon Roti to rely on the promise of Indra 

and wait. 

[True enough, certain months afterwards, the 

spirit of her husband was given back to her. But 

his body had been destroyed. So, since then, 

walks Love invisible amongst men and gods.] 

And Uma, left alone in the forest, realised that 

all her beauty had failed to prevail upon her 

Husband to forget her as Sati for one moment. 

Now, therefore, she must make a stronger appeal, 

and of a strangely different kind. 

Then she left her princely home and went away 

to a hermitage, far from the dwellings of men, to 

live. A rough grass girdle and the covering of 

birch-bark became all her clothing. She slept on


the bare earth, in 

the little time when she was not 

telling the name of Siva on her beads, and her 

right arm grew marked and worn with the constant 

pressure of her rosary. Her hair was matted, 

and for food she seemed to take no thought. 

How long this course of life had lasted, she 

herself knew not, when one day a Brahmin beggar 

passed that way, and stopped at her door to beg 

for food. 

Uma, always pitiful 

as a mother to the needs 

of others, though she appeared to have none of 

her own, hastened to give him alms. But when 

he had received her dole, the beggar seemed 

desirous of lingering awhile to chat. 

" Lady, for whose sake can you be practising 

such a course of penance ? " he asked. " You are 

young 

and fair. Methinks this is the life of one 

old or disappointed that you draws 

" 

you to live thus ? " My heart," she replied, 

" is all for Siva." 

lead. Whose love 

"Siva!" said the beggar, "but surely He is a 

queer fellow ! Why, 

He seems to be poorer than 

poverty, and a dreamer of dreams. I trust indeed, 

Lady, that your heart is not given to that Madman ! " 

" Ah," said Uma, sighing gently, " you speak thus 

because you do not understand ! The actions of 

the great are often unaccountable to the common 

mind. The ways of Mahadeva may well be beyond 

your ken " 

!


" But," he " persisted, believe that I 

speak 

wisdom ! 

Spend your life no longer in a vain 

effort to reach One who is not worthy of your 

love. Give up the thought of Siva. Even if 

" 

He be what you say, He does not deserve 

" " 

Stop 

! said Uma, " I have let you speak too 

long. 

I cannot listen to one word more," and 

she turned to go. 

She was just lifting her foot, had not yet quite 

turned her eyes away, when a strange change 

began to steal over the Brahmin's features, and 

the Princess Uma, watching it, stood rooted to 

the spot. She held her breath. Surely there 

must be some mistake. Indeed, she could not 

believe her eyes. But at last she had to believe. 

For fasts and vigils had done what beauty alone 

could never have accomplished. The Brahmin 

who stood before her was none other than 

Mahadeva Himself.

Savitri, 

the Indian Alcestis 

THERE are few of the Greek stories that we love 

so much as that of Alcestis. Every one remembers 

how Admetus, her husband, was under a curse, 

and unless one could be found to die for him, he 

must, on a certain day, give up his life and betake 

himself to the dark realms of Pluto. And no one 

can forget that there was one to whom death 

seemed a little 

thing to suffer, if only thereby 

Admetus might be saved. This was his wife, 

Alcestis. So she, the brave woman-heart, left the 

light of the sun behind her, and journeyed alone 

to the under-world and the kingdoms of the dead. 

Then was there sorrow and mourning in the 

halls of Admetus, until evening, when, as we all 

know, there came thither a guest whose strength 

was beyond that of mortals, and whose heart was 

open to the sadness of all. And he, the mighty 

Herakles, taking pity on the sorrow of Admetus, 

went down into Hades, and brought forth the soul 

of the faithful wife. Thus was the curse removed, 

and Death himself vanquished by men. And 

Alcestis dwelt once more with her husband 

Admetus, and after many years, as ripe 

53 

corn into


the garner, so passed they away, 

and were both 

together gathered to their fathers. 

In this story we learn a great deal of the thought 

of the Greeks about women. We learn that they 

knew that woman, though usually so much weaker 

than man, and needing his protection, could yet, 

in the strength of her love for another, become 

brave as a lion, and face dangers gladly from 

which a man might shrink in terror. 

In India also, amongst her gentle white-veiled 

women, with all their silent grace, there is the 

same courage, the same strength. There also it 

is known that a timid girl a very daughter of 

men, not like Sati or Uma, some divine personage 

veiled in flesh though utterly unaccustomed to 

the touch of the rough world, will become suddenly 

brave to protect another. The Indian people 

know that there is no darkness that a true wife 

will not enter at her husband's side, no hardship 

she will not undertake, no battle that on his behalf 

she will not fight. 

And yet their story of the ideal 

woman is curiously different from this of Alcestis. 

Different, and at the same time similar. Only 

listen, and you shall judge for yourselves. 

Beautiful and gifted was the royal maiden, 

Savitri. And yet, at the mention of her name, 

the world thought only of her holiness. She had 

come to her parents as the Spirit of Prayer itself. 

For the marriage of her father Aswapati and his

SAVITRI, THE INDIAN ALCESTIS 55 

been blessed with no 

queen had for many years 

children, which thing was a great sorrow to them. 

And they were now growing old. But still, daily, 

the King lighted with his own hands the sacrificial 

fire, and chanted the national prayer Savitri, and 

begged of the gods that even yet he might have 

a child. It was in the midst of his worship one 

day, as he sang Savitri, and brooded deep on the 

divine will, that suddenly in the midst of the fire, 

he saw the form of a woman, that very goddess 

who was guardian spirit of the Indian prayer, 

and she blessed him and told him that his wife 

and he would yet have a daughter, whose destiny 

was high and whose name was to be that of the 

prayer itself. Thus, out of the devotion of two 

royal lives, was born the Princess Savitri. 

Oh how good she was, and at the same time 

how strong 

! Full of gentleness and pity, there 

was yet nothing wavering or foolish about her. 

True to every promise, 

faithful to all who were in 

need, fearless and decided when difficult questions 

came up, she was a comfort to her parents and to 

all their people. 

At last her father began to feel that it was time 

to think of her marriage. She was now seventeen 

or eighteen, and as yet no proposal had been made 

for her hand. Nor had her parents any idea to 

what prince to send the cocoanut on her behalf, 

as hint that a princess waited for his wooing. At


this point, however, Savitri herself made a suggestion. 

Before making any attempt to arrange 

the marriage, let her go on a long pilgrimage ; 

pray at one holy shrine after another ; 

take the 

blessings and listen to the words of many holy 

men enter ; deep into communion with her own 

Guardian Spirit ; 

and on her return, 

if no direction 

had been vouchsafed her, it would still be time 

enough to deal with the question of her marriage. 

For these things are guarded by destiny, and it is 

not well to meddle hastily with high matters. 

Every one thought this idea admirable. To some 

of her father's councillors it may have seemed that 

in this way Savitri would receive an education fit 

for a great queen. She would see the country 

and do homage to its holy and learned men. 

Others may have thought of the advantages in 

health and beauty. But to her parents 

it seemed 

that even as she had come to them, so also she 

would enter her husband's home, out of the very 

heart of prayer. 

So great preparations were made. Grey-headed 

old courtiers were told off to watch over the 

Princess, and numbers of servants were sent to 

attend on her. She was to drive in a carriage, 

gilded all over, and surrounded by 

curtains of 

scarlet silk, through which she could see everything 

without being seen. And a long train of 

men and elephants were to follow, bearing tents


and furniture and food, as well as a palanquin for 

Savitri to use, instead of the car, when she should 

be travelling in the forest. 

They started early one 

night when the moon was new, that they might 

cross the hot dry plain in the dark hours, and 

reach the forests before day. The Princess had 

never gone so far before. She had wandered 

about the royal gardens 

all her life, and she had 

driven about the city and parks in a closed 

carriage. But this was quite different. She was 

setting off on an adventure, alone, free. She felt 

that she was being led somewhere. Every step 

was the fulfilment of a delightful duty. It was her 

first long separation from her father and mother. 

Yet she was happy, and the tossing trees and 

howling jackals and midnight sky 

filled her with 

joy, even at moments when the torch-bearers, at 

the head of the train, were startled at the roar of 

a tiger in the jungle. On such a journey the 

starlit night becomes like a great mother-heart, 

and one enters it, to listen to a silence deeper than 

any voice. 

The march had lasted till 

long after daybreak, 

when they reached the edge of a forest beside a 

stream, where Savitri could bathe and worship, 

and cook her own simple meal. They stayed 

there the rest of that day, and resumed their 

pilgrimage early next morning. 

This life continued for many months. Some-


times they would encamp for a whole week within 

reach of a certain hermitage. And Savitri would 

enter her palanquin every morning and have herself 

carried before the hut of the holy man, to 

offer gifts 

and request his blessing. Then she 

would sit 

on the ground before him, closely veiled, 

ready to listen if he chose to speak, but if not, 

content only to watch, since blessed are the eyes 

that look upon a saint. 

And all the time she was drawing nearer and 

nearer to the great day of her life, that was to 

make her name dear to womanhood throughout 

the ages. 

Journeying one day in the forest she saw, 

through the curtains of her litter, a tall, strong 

young man. There was something about him that 

made her hold her breath. Across one shoulder 

he carried an axe, and in his other hand he 

held a bundle of faggots. He was evidently a 

forester. Yet his bearing spoke of courage and 

gentleness, and the courtesy with which he helped 

some one of her train, and then stood aside for 

them to pass, told of high breeding and great 

gentlehood of heart. Inquiries were made as 

to the name and parentage of this 

young man. 

And then the Princess and her train turned homewards. 

For Savitri knew that to-day her destiny 

was come upon her. Here stood that soul to 

whom through endless births she had been united.


He might be a forester or he might be a king. 

In any case she, with her mind's eye cleansed by 

pilgrimage and prayer, had recognised him to 

her past lives she had been wife, and 

whom in all 

she knew that what had been should again be. 

Here was he whom she should wed. 

Aswapati was in his hall of state, when at last 

his daughter entered his presence. Savitri would 

have liked to see her father alone, but beside him 

sat the holy man Narada, clad in his pink cloth, 

and the King bade her speak freely before him. 

" Has my child determined where she will bestow 

herself ? " he asked gently, when the first warm 

greetings were over. 

Savitri flushed crimson as she replied. 

"Tell me all about this youth," said Aswapati 

the King eagerly. 

" In a certain woodland, my father," said the 

Princess timidly, "we met a young man who is 

living 

the life of a forester. His father is a blind 

king who has been driven from his throne in his 

old age, and is living in the forests in great poverty. 

This youth have I determined to marry. He is 

gentle, and strong, and courteous, and his name 

is 

Satyavan." 

As soon as Savitri had begun to describe her 

choice, Narada had looked startled and interested. 

But now he held up one hand suddenly, saying, 

" " 

Oh no ! not he !


Aswapati looked at him anxiously. "Why 

not ? " he said. 

" My daughter has wealth enough 

for two." 

" " 

Oh, 

it is not that ! 

said Narada ; 

" but if 

Savitri weds this youth she will certainly become 

a widow, for Satyavan is 

under a curse, and twelve 

months from this day he is doomed to die " 

! 

The Princess had grown very pale. For every 

Hindu woman prays to die before her husband. 

But when Aswapati turned and said to her, "This 

is sad news, my daughter you must choose 

! 

again," she said, " No, my father. One gives one's 

faith but once. I cannot name a second as my 

husband. It is sad to be a widow, but having 

taken Satyavan, 

I must face whatever comes to 

me with this husband of my choice." 

Both the King and Narada felt that these 

words were true, and messengers were sent next 

day, bearing a cocoanut from Aswapati to the 

young prince dwelling in the forest. This meant 

that the King desired the youth to marry his 

daughter, and Satyavan and his parents gladly 

accepted, with the one stipulation that Savitri 

should come and live in their home, instead of 

taking her husband away 

from them in their 

old age. 

So the wedding was proclaimed. The fire was 

called to witness their union. The iron ring was 

bound on Savitri's left wrist, and Satyavan and


she had the veil and cloak knotted together, and 

hand in hand walked seven times around the 

sacred fire, while the priest at each circle chanted 

the ancient prayers of their people that that stage 

of life 

might be blessed to them both. Then they 

went away into the forest to live, and Savitri put 

away all the robes and jewels of a princess, and 

set herself to be a faithful and loving daughter to 

her new parents. 

Only she could never forget the 

terrible doom that had been pronounced upon 

her husband, and she never ceased to bear in 

mind the secret date on which Narada had said 

that he would die. For Yama, the God of Death, 

is the only being in all the worlds, perhaps, who 

never breaks his word, and " as true as Death " 

has become such a saying in India, that Yama 

is 

held to be also the God of Truth and Faith. 

This was the thought that made poor Savitri's 

heart beat fast. She knew that there was no hope 

of the curse being forgotten. She could see quite 

plainly, too, that no one but herself knew anything 

about it. It remained to be seen whether she 

could find a way to save her husband or not. 

The dreadful moment drew nearer and nearer. 

At last, when only three days remained, the young 

wife took the terrible vow that is known as the 

three vigils. For three nights she would remain 

awake, in prayer, and during the intervening days 

she would eat no food. In this way Savitri hoped


to reach a state of the soul where she could see 

and hear things that commonly pass unknown to 

mortals. 

The blind King and his aged Queen implored 

their new daughter to relax this effort, but when 

she made the simple answer, " I have taken a 

vow," they could say 

no more. In that case her 

resolution was sacred, and they could only help 

her to carry it out. At last the fourth morning 

dawned, but still Savitri would not touch food. 

" No," she said, 

" it will be time enough at nightfall. 

Now I 

ask, as the only favour I have yet 

begged, that you should allow me also to go out 

into the jungle with your son, and spend the day." 

She was careful not to mention Satyavan's name 

to his parents, for that would have been forward 

and ill-bred. The old couple smiled gently. "The 

girl is a good girl," they said to one another, " and 

has yet asked for nothing. We certainly ought 

to allow her to go. Satyavan, take thou good 

care of our daughter." At these words Savitri 

touched their feet, and went out with her husband. 

She had calculated that the blow would fall at 

midday, and as the hour drew near she suggested 

that they should stop in a shady spot and wander 

no further. Satyavan gathered grass and made 

a seat for her. Then he filled her lap with wild 

fruit ; 

and turned to his work of hewing wood. 

Poor Savitri sat and waited, listening breathless


for the strokes of his axe upon 

the trees. Presently 

they rang fainter and feebler, and at last 

Satyavan came tottering up to her, with the words, 

" " 

Oh, how my head pains 

! Then he lay down 

with his head on her lap, and passed into a heavy 

swoon. 

At this moment the wife became aware of a 

grim and terrible figure advancing towards them 

from the jungle. It was a stately personage, black 

as night, and carrying in one hand a piece of rope, 

with a noose at the end. She knew him at once 

for Yama, God of Truth and King of the Dead. 

He smiled kindly at Savitri. errand is not 

" My 

for you, child ! " he said to her, stooping at the 

same time and fixing his loop of rope around the 

soul of Satyavan, that he might thus drag him 

bound behind him. 

Savitri trembled all over as he did this, but when 

the soul of her husband stood up to follow, then she 

trembled no longer. 

She also stood up, with her 

eyes shining and her hands clasped, prepared to go 

with Satyavan even into the realms of Death. 

" Farewell, child," said Yama, turning to go, 

and looking over his shoulder " 

; grieve not overmuch 

! Death is the only certain guest." 

And away he went, down the forest-glades. 

But as he went, he could distinctly hear behind 

him the patter of feet. He grew uneasy. 

It was 

his duty to take the soul of Satyavan, 

but not that


of Savitri. What was she doing now ? Could 

she be following him ? 

Why, in any case, had 

she been able to see him ? What power had 

sharpened her hearing and cleared her sight ? 

To most mortals, Death was invisible. Patter ! 

patter Yes that ! certainly was a footfall behind 

him. Foolish girl 

! Was she striving to follow 

her husband ? She must go home sooner or 

later. Still he would try to soothe her grief by 

" 

gifts. Savitri," said Yama, suddenly turning 

round on " her, ask anything you like, except the 

life of your husband, and it shall be yours. Then 

go home." 

Savitri bent low. "Grant his sight once more 

to my father-in-law!" she said. 

" Easily granted 

! 

" said the Monarch of Death. 

" Now, good-bye 

! This is not the place for you." 

But still the footsteps followed Yama. The 

forest grew denser and more gloomy, yet wherever 

he could go, Savitri seemed to be able to follow. 

" " 

Another wish, child, shall be yours 

! said 

Yama. " But you must " 

go ! 

Savitri stood undismayed. She was beginning 

to feel herself on good terms with Death, and 

believed that he might give way to her yet. 

ask for the return of my father-in-law's wealth 

and kingdom," she answered now. 

" It is yours," said Yama, turning his back. 

" " 

But go 

! 

" I


Still the faithful wife followed her husband, and 

Yama himself could not shake her off. Boon after 

boon was granted her, and each time she added 

something to the joy of the home in which she 

had not yet passed a year. At last Death himself 

began to notice this. 

"This time, Savitri," he commanded, " ask 

something for yourself. Anything but your husband's 

life shall be yours. But it is my last gift 

! 

When that is 

given, you are banished from my 

presence." 

" Grant me, then, that I may have many sons, 

and see their children happy before I die ! " said 

Savitri. 

Yama was delighted. 

So Savitri was willing to 

flee from him, he " thought 

! Of course ! Of 

" 

course ! A very good wish ! he said. 

But Savitri was standing 

still before him, 

as if 

waiting. "Well," he said, "have I not granted 

it ? That is all." 

At these words Savitri raised her head and 

smiled. " My Lord," she " said, a widow does not 

" 

remarry ! 

The dread King looked at her for a moment. 

As God of Death, how could he give up the dead ? 

But as God of Truth, could he urge Savitri to 

be untrue ? A moment he hesitated. Then he 

stooped and undid the noose, while the whole 

forest rang with his laughter. 

E


" Peerless amongst women," he said, 

" is that 

brave heart that follows the husband even into the 

grave, and recovers his life from Yama himself. 

Thus do the gods love to win defeat at the hands 

of mortals." 

An hour later, under the same tree where he 

had swooned, Prince Satyavan awoke, with his 

head on Savitri's knee. " I have had a strange 

dream," he murmured " feebly, and I 

thought that 

I was dead." 

" My beloved," answered " Savitri, it was no 

dream. But the night falls. Let us hasten homewards." 

As they turned to go, the jungle rang with the 

cries of a royal escort, who had come out to seek 

them. For that very day, Satyavan's 

father had 

received word of the restoration of his kingdom, 

and the life of hardship and poverty was behind 

them all forever.

Nala and Damayanti 

ONCE upon a time there was a king named Nala, 

who ruled over a people known as the Nishadas. 

Now this Nala was the first of kings. In person 

he was strong and handsome, full of kingly honour, 

and gracious in his bearing. He loved archery 

and hunting, and all the sports of monarchs. And 

one special gift 

was his, in an extraordinary degree, 

the knowledge, namely, of the management of 

horses. Thus in beauty, in character, in fortune, 

and in power, there was scarcely in the whole 

world another king like 

Nala. 

If there were one, 

it could only be Bhima, King 

of the Vidarbhas, a sovereign of heroic nature 

and great courage, deeply loved by all his subjects. 

Now Bhima had three sons and one daughter, 

the Princess Damayanti. 

And the fame of Damayanti, 

for her mingling of beauty and sweetness, 

and royal grace and dignity, had gone throughout 

the world. Never had one so lovely been seen 

before. She was said to shine, even in the midst 

of the beauty of her handmaidens, 

bright lightning amidst the dark clouds. And 

the hearts of the very gods were filled with 

like the


gladness whenever they looked upon this exquisite 

maiden. 

It 

happened that constantly before Damayanti, 

the minstrels and heralds chanted the praises of 

Nala, and before Nala those of Damayanti, till 

the two began to dream of each other, with an 

attachment that was not born of sight. 

And 

Nala, conscious of the love that was awakening 

within him, began to pass much of his time in 

the gardens of his palace, alone. And it came 

to pass that one day he saw there a flock of 

wild swans with golden wings, and from amongst 

them he caught with his hands one. And the 

bird was much afraid, and " said, O King, slay 

me not ! Release me, and I will go to Damayanti 

and so speak to her of thee, that she will 

" 

desire to wed thee, and no other in the world ! 

Musing, and stroking the wings of the swan, Nala 

heard his words, and " saying, Ah, then do thou 

" 

indeed even so ! 

opened his hands, and let him 

go free. 

Then the swans flew up and away to the city 

of the Vidarbhas, and alighted in the palace 

gardens before Damayanti and her maidens. And 

all the beautiful girls scattered immediately, to 

run after the fleeing birds, trying each to catch 

one. But that after which Damayanti ran, led 

her away to a lonely place, and addressed her in 

human 

" speech. Peerless amongst men, O Dama-

NALA AND DAMAYANTI 69 

yanti ! " 

it said, " is Nala, King 

of the Nishadas. 

Accept thou him ! Wed thou with him ! 

Ever happy and blessed is the union of the 

" 

best with the best ! The Princess stood with 

head bowed and folded hands, as soon as she 

understood what the swan would say ; 

but when 

he ended, she looked up with a smile and a sigh. 

" " 

Dear bird ! she 

'< 

said, speak thou even thus 

" 

unto him also ! 

And the handmaidens of Damayanti, from this 

time on, began to notice that she grew abstracted. 

She wandered much alone. She sighed 

and became pale, and in 

the midst of merriment, 

her thoughts would be far away. Then, delicately 

and indirectly, they represented 

the matter 

to Bhima, and he, reflecting that his daughter 

was now grown up, realised that her marriage 

ought to be arranged, and sent out messages 

all over the country, that on a certain day her 

swayamvara would be held. 

From every part, at this news, came the kings, 

attended by their bodyguards, and travelling in 

the utmost splendour, with horses and elephants 

and chariots. And all were received in due state 

by Bhima, and assigned royal quarters, pending 

the day of Damayanti's swayamvara. And even 

amongst the gods did the news go forth, and 

Indra, and Agni and Varuna, and Yama himself, 

the King of Death, set out from high Heaven


for the city of the Vidarbhas, each eager to win 

the hand of the Princess. 

But as the proud gods went, they overtook a 

mortal wending his way on foot, and his beauty 

and greatness, of mind as well as body, were such 

that they immediately determined to leave their 

chariots in the skies, and tread the earth in the 

company of this man. Then, suddenly alighting 

before him for the gods know all they said, 

11 

Nala ! thou art a man to be trusted. Wilt thou 

promise to carry a message 

for us ? 

" 

Nala, seeing four luminous beings appear before 

him, and hearing them ask him to be their messenger, 

answered immediately, " Yea ! That will I ! 

and then, drawing nearer, he " added, But tell me 

first who are ye who address me ? and what is the 

message, further, that I should carry for you " ? 

Said Indra,


others ? 

Spare me, ye Gods ! Send me not 

upon this errand " 

! 

" " 

Then why, O King 

! answered the gods 

gravely, " didst thou first 

promise ? Why, having 

promised, dost thou now seek to break thy word ? " 

Hearing this, Nala spoke " again, saying, But 

even if I 

went, how could I 

hope to enter the 

apartments of Damayanti ? Is not the palace of 

Bhima well guarded " ? 

But Indra replied, " Leave that to us ! If thou 

wilt go, thou shalt have the power to enter ! " 

and saying 

" Then, O Gods, I 

obey your will ! " 

Nala found himself, on the moment, 

in the 

presence of Damayanti, within the private apartments 

of the palace of Bhima. 

Damayanti sat amongst her ladies. The next 

day was to be her swayamvara, and feeling sure 

that Nala would attend it, the smiles had come 

back to her lips, and the colour to her cheeks. 

Her eyes were full of light, and the words she 

spoke were both witty and tender. Seeing his 

beloved thus for the first time, Nala felt how 

deep and overflowing was his love for her. 

Truly, her beauty was so great, that the very 

moon was put to shame by 

it. He had not 

thought, he had not heard, he could not even 

have imagined, anything so perfect. But his 

word was given, and given to the gods, and he 

controlled his own feeling.


This determination did not take even so much 

as that instant which it 

required for him to 

become visible to the assembled maidens. As 

he did so, they sprang to their feet in amazement, 

feeling no fear, but struck with wonder 

at the beauty of the spirit who appeared thus 

before them, and full of the question, "Who 

can it be " ? Yet were they too shy to venture 

to speak to him. Only Damayanti came forward 

gently, and smilingly addressed the heroic vision, 

saying, " Who art thou ? And how hast thou 

contrived to enter unperceived ? Are not my 

apartments well guarded, and the King's orders 

severe " ? 

Hearing these words, the King answered, " My 

name, O Princess, is Nala. I have entered here 

undiscovered, by the power of the gods. 

I come 

as their messenger. Indra, Agni, Varuna, and 

Yama, all alike desire, O beauteous one ! at the 

morrow's swayamvara to be chosen by thee. As 

their I 

messenger, say, ' Choose thou one of 

them for thy lord!'" 

Damayanti bowed as she heard the names of 

the gods. Then, with a smile, she turned herself 

" she answered, " it is 

to Nala. " Nay, O Hero ! 

not the gods, but thee thyself whom I shall 

choose. Thy message reached me, borne hither 

by the swans. Thee have I accepted in my 

heart. For thee has the swayamvara been


called. Failing thee, 

I refuse to be won by 

" 

any ! 

" Nay," answered Nala, 

" in the presence of 

the gods, wouldst thou choose a man ? Ah, for 

thine own sake, turn thy heart, I pray thee, to 

those high-souled lords, the creators of the worlds, 

unto the dust of whose feet I am not equal 

! 

Misguided 

is the mortal who setteth them at 

nought. Be warned, 

I 

beg of thee. Choose 

thou one of these heavenly beings. What woman 

would not be proud, to be sought by the Protectors 

of Men ? 

Truly, do I speak unto thee, 

as thy friend ! " 

Tears were by this time running down the 

cheeks of Damayanti. Trembling, and standing 

before Nala with folded hands, she answered, 

" I bow to the gods, but thee, O King, have I 

chosen for my lord " 

! 

" Blessed one!" answered Nala gently. "Do even 

as thou wilt. How dare I, having given my word 

to another, turn the occasion to my own profit ? 

Yet, if that had consisted with honour, I 

would have 

sought my will Knowing ! this, do thou decide." 

The face of Damayanti had changed as Nala 

spoke these words. Under the tears were now 

smiles. For his secret was told. A moment she 

stood and thought, and then she raised her head. 

" I see a way, O monarch," she said, 

" by which 

no blame whatever can attach itself to thee.


Come thou to the swayamvara with the gods. 

Then, in their presence, shall I choose thee. And 

the choice will be mine alone. Thou shalt be 

without sin." 

Nala realised nothing, save the promise that 

Damayanti on the morrow would give herself 

to him. With throbbing pulses, but quiet manner, 

he bowed his head in farewell, and, immediately 

becoming once more invisible, returned to the 

presence of the gods and told them all that had 

happened. 

" The maiden said to me, ' Let the 

gods, O Hero, come with thee to my swayamvara. 

I shall, in their presence, choose thee. Yet shalt 

thou be without sin.' " And the gods accepted 

the report of their messenger, for he had been 

faithful to his trust. 

The morning of the swayamvara dawned 

brightly, and the kings entered the lofty portals 

of the amphitheatre, even as lions might enter 

into the mountain wilds. The scene was all 

magnificence. Amongst the great pillars sat each 

royal guest on a shining throne. Each bore his 

sceptre and turban of state. Each was surrounded 

by his own heralds and minstrels, and amongst 

the blaze of silks and banners and jewels shone 

the flowers and foliage that decorated the hall. 

At the appointed hour, preceded by her trumpeters, 

and surrounded by her escort, the Princess


Damayanti entered. And her loveliness was 

such that, to the assembled monarchs, she seemed 

to be surrounded with dazzling light. All drew 

in their breath, and remained almost without 

stirring, at the sight of such matchless beauty. 

One by one the names and achievements of each 

monarch were proclaimed. The heralds of the 

Princess would challenge, and those of 

in turn would reply, and Damayanti 

each king 

stood listening, 

ready to give the signal, when her choice 

should be made. 

But when the name of Nala was called, and 

she raised her head and looked up, before 

stepping to his side, what was not the terror of 

Damayanti to find that there, seated side by 

side on different thrones, all equally splendid, all 

equally noble, were no less than five Nalas, and 

she had no means of distinguishing him whom 

she would choose ? 

The Princess looked and tried to choose. 

Then 

she hesitated, and stepped back. Then she tried 

again, but all to no purpose. She knew of course 

that this was a trick of the gods. Four of these 

five were Indra, Agni, Varuna, and Yama. One 

was Nala. But which one ? She tried to remember 

the marks of the celestial beings, as they 

had been told to her in her childhood by old 

people. But none of these marks did she see on 

the persons before her, so exactly had they all


reproduced the form of Nala. What must she 

do ? At this supreme moment of her life she 

dared not make a mistake. 

Pondering deeply in her own mind, it suddenly 

occurred to Damayanti that she should appeal 

for protection to the gods themselves Imme- 

! 

diately, bowing down unto them in mind and 

speech, and folding her hands reverently, she 

tremblingly addressed them : 

" 

From that moment, O ye Gods, when I 

gave 

ear to the words of the wild swan, did I choose 

Nala, the King of the Nishadas, to be my lord. 

That I may be true to this, let the gods now reveal 

him to me ! Inasmuch as neither in thought nor 

word have I ever yet wavered in that resolve, oh, 

that I may hereafter be true to it, let the gods now 

reveal him to me ! And since, verily, it was the 

gods themselves who destined the King of the 

Nishadas to be my lord, let them now, that themselves 

may be true to themselves, reveal him to 

me ! To Nala alone did I vow to give myself. 

That I 

may be true to this vow, let them now 

reveal him to me ! I take refuge in the mercy of 

the exalted Guardians of the Worlds ! Let them 

now resume their proper forms, that I may know 

my rightful lord " 

! 

Touched by these pitiful words of Damayanti, 

and awed by her fixed resolve and her pure and 

womanly love, the gods immediately 

did what


they could, in that public place, to grant her 

prayer, by taking back, without change of form, 

their divine marks. And straightway she saw that 

they were not soiled by 

dust or sweat. Their 

garlands were unfading, their eyes unwinking. 

They cast no shadows. Nor did their feet touch 

the earth. And Nala stood revealed by his 

shadow and his fading garlands ; 

the stains of 

dust and sweat ; 

his standing on the ground, and 

his human eyes. And no sooner did Damayanti 

thus perceive the difference between him and the 

gods, than she stepped forward eagerly 

her troth. Stooping shyly, she caught 

hand the hem of 

to fulfil 

in her left 

Nala's garment, and then raising 

herself proudly, she threw round his neck a 

wreath of beautiful flowers. And all present, 

her thus choose the one human Nala for 

seeing her husband, broke out into sudden exclamations, 

and the gods themselves cried, 

" 

Well done ! 

" Well done ! 

And Nala stepped down from his high place, 

and said, 

" Since thou, O blessed one, hast chosen 

me, a mortal, from the midst of the Immortals, 

know me for a spouse to whom shall thy every 

wish be sacred. Truly do I 

promise thee, that 

as long as life lasts I shall remain thine and 

" 

thine alone ! And so with mutual vows and 

homage, they both sought and received the protection 

of the gods. Then did all guests, royal


and divine, depart ; 

and the marriage 

of Nala 

and Damayanti was performed ; 

and they went, 

in great happiness, to the city of the Nishadas. 

Now as the gods were returning to their own 

regions, they met Koli, the King of Darkness, and 

Dwapara, Spirit of Twilight, coming to the earth. 

And when they asked where they were going, 

Koli replied, "To Damayanti's swayamvara. My 

heart is fixed on wedding with that damsel." 

Hearing this, Indra smiled, and answered, " But 

her swayamvara is already ended. In our sight 

she hath chosen Nala for her husband." To this 

said Koli, that vilest of the celestials, in great 

wrath, " If, spurning the Immortals, Damayanti 

in their presence hath wedded with a mortal, 

then is it meet she should suffer a " 

heavy doom ! 

But the gods answered, " Nay, with our sanction 

was it that Damayanti chose Nala. And what 

damsel is there who would not have done the 

same ? Great and manly and learned, that tiger 

amongst men, 

that mortal who resembles one of 

the Divine Protectors, has truthfulness and forbearance 

and knowledge, and purity and selfcontrol, 

and perfect tranquillity of soul. Whoever, 

O Koli, wisheth to curse this Nala, will end 

in cursing and destroying himself by his own 

" 

act ! 

Having spoken thus solemnly, the gods 

turned, leaving Koli and Dwapara, and went to


heaven. But when they had gone, Koli whispered 

to Dwapara, " I must be ! 

revenged 

I must be 

revenged ! I shall possess Nala, and deprive him 

of wife and kingdom. And thou, entering into 

the dice, shalt " 

help me to do this ! 

Yet was it twelve long years ere Koli, watching 

Nala, could find in his conduct any slightest flaw 

by which he might be able to enter in and possess 

him. At last, however, there came an evening 

when he performed his worship without having 

completed all his ablutions. Then, through this 

error, Koli took possession of Nala. Also he 

appeared before his brother, Pushkara, tempting 

him to challenge Nala to a game of dice. And 

Dwapara also, at the same time, placed himself in 

the hands of Pushkara as the principal die. Such 

was the beginning of that terrible gambling that 

lasted month after month, and ended by depriving 

Nala of all 

that he had. 

Many times, in the course of that play, came 

Damayanti and the citizens and subjects of Nala, 

and begged him to desist. But he, maddened by 

the indwelling Koli, turned a deaf ear to his 

queen, and grew only the more intent upon the 

dice. Till she, seeing that evil was about to 

come upon them, sent for the royal charioteer. 

" O charioteer," she " said, I seek thy protection. 

My mind misgiveth me. The King may come to

8o 


grief. 

Take thou therefore these my children, 

my son Indrasen and my daughter Indrasena, 

and carry them to my father's house. And when 

thou hast given them into the care of my kindred, 

do thou even as thou wilt." And when the royal 

councillors had been consulted, they found the 

bidding of the Queen to be good, and the children 

were sent to the care of Bhima. 

And when the charioteer had gone, Pushkara 

won from Nala his kingdom and all else that was 

left to him. And laughing he " said, O King, 

what stake hast thou now ? 

Damayanti alone 

" 

remaineth. Let us play for her ! And Nala 

gazed at Pushkara in anguish, but spake never 

a word. 

Then, taking off all his ornaments, and covered 

only with a single garment, leaving behind him 

all his wealth, the King set out to leave the city. 

But Damayanti, clothing herself also in one long 

scarf, followed after him through the gates. 

And 

for three days and nights they wandered together, 

without food and without rest. For Pushkara 

had made proclamation that any who gave help 

to Nala should be condemned to death ; 

so that, 

partly for fear of the sentence, and partly lest 

they should bring further harm on their king 

himself, none of his subjects dared to offer them 

anything. 

At last, on the fourth day, wandering in the


forest seeking for roots and fruits, 

Nala saw some 

birds of golden colour, and " thinking, Here is 

" 

food ! snatched off his one piece of clothing, and 

threw it over them to catch them. But lo ! the 

birds rose upwards to the sky, bearing the garment 

with them ! And then, looking down and 

beholding the once mighty 

lord of the Nishadas 

standing naked in the forest, his mind full of gloom, 

and his gaze rooted to the earth, the birds spake 

mockingly, and said to him, " Oh thou of little 

wit, we are none other than the dice with which 

thou playedst. We followed thee to take away 

thy garment. For it 

pleased us not that thou 

" 

shouldst take with thee even a single cloth ! 

Hearing these words, and realising his terrible 

plight, since he had, it was evident, mysterious 

beings for his foes, Nala turned himself to Damayanti, 

and said over and over again, " Yonder, 

my gentle one, is the road to thy father's kingdom. 

I have lost all, Damayanti. 

I am doomed 

and deprived of my senses. But I am thy lord. 

Listen to me. Yonder is the road to thy father's 

kingdom." 

But Damayanti answered him with 

sobs. 

" 

O 

King, how could I go ? " she asked him, " leaving 

thee in the wild woods alone, deprived of all 

things, and worn with hunger and toil. Nay, 

nay, whenever, in these ill-starred days, thy heart 

may turn to the thought of thy former happiness, 

F


thou shalt find me near thee, to soothe thy weariness 

! Remember what the physicians say, 

' 

In 

sorrow is there no physic equal to the wife ' ! Is 

" 

it not true, O Nala, that which I 

say unto thee ? 

" O my gentle Damayanti," answered Nala, " it 

is even as thou sayest. Truly there is no friend, 

no medicine, equal unto the wife. But I am 

not seeking to renounce thee. Why dost thou 

tremble so ? I could forsake myself, beloved, but 

thee I could not forsake. Wherefore, my timid 

one, shouldst thou dread this?" 

But on Damayanti lay' the prevision 

of the 

wife, and she answered, " I 

know, O King, that 

thou wouldst not willingly desert me. Yet 

maddened and distracted, many things are possible. 

Why dost thou repeatedly point out to 

father's home ? Or if thou 

me the way to my 

really desirest to place me with my kindred, 

then let us wend together to the country of the 

Vidarbhas. Thou shalt there be received with 

honour by the King, and, respected by all, shalt 

dwell happily in our home." " Surely," answered 

Nala, " thy father's kingdom is to me even as my 

own. Yet could I not by any means go there at 

such a crisis. Once did I 

appear there in fortune, 

bringing glory upon thee. How could I go in 

" 

this misery, causing thee shame ? 

Talking together in this fashion, Damayanti had 

contrived to share her own clothing with her


husband, and thus wandering slowly on together, 

they came to a shed reserved for travellers. Here 

they sat down on the bare earth to rest, and then, 

worn out with hunger and weariness and sorrow, 

both, unawares, fell fast asleep. 

But Nala, whose mind was distraught by Koli, 

could not rest. As soon as Damayanti slept, he 

woke, and began to turn over in his mind all the 

disaster he had brought upon her. Reflecting on 

her devotion, he began to think that if only he 

were not with her, she would surely find her way 

to her father's kingdom. And out of the very 

honour in which he held her, 

it was unimaginable 

to him that she should be in danger on the way. 

Thinking thus, the question occurred to him, how 

could he cut their common garment without her 

being awakened by his act ? 

and with this question 

in his mind, under the influence of Koli, he strode 

up and down the shed. At that very moment, he 

caught sight of a sword lying a step or two away, 

unsheathed. Seizing this, he cut the veil in half, 

and then, throwing the sword away, he turned and 

left 

Damayanti, in her sleep, alone. 

Yet again and again, his heart failing him, did 

the King of the Nishadas return to the hut to look 

once more, and yet once more, at his sleeping wife. 

" Dragged away," says the chronicler, 

" by Koli, 

but drawn back by love," 

it seemed as if the mind 

of the wretched King were rent in twain, and one


half fought against the other. " " Alas ! alas ! he 

lamented, " there sleepeth my beloved on the bare 

earth, like one forlorn ! What will she do when 

she awaketh ? How will she wander alone through 

the perils of these woods ? 

May the Sun himself 

thou blessed One ! and the Guardian Spirits, 

and the Stars and the Winds, be thy protectors, 

thy womanly honour being 

its own best guard ! " 

And addressing thus his dear wife, peerless in 

beauty, Nala strove to go, being reft of his reason 

by Koli. Till at last, stupefied and bereft of his 

senses, Nala forsook his sleeping wife. In sorrow 

departed he, maddened and distraught, leaving 

her alone in that solitary forest. 

Three years had gone by, and once more Damayanti 

was dwelling, but now with her children by 

her side, in her father's house. For Bhima had 

sent out messengers 

in all directions to seek for 

her, and by them had she been found and brought 

back to her own people. But always she wore but 

half a veil, never would she use ornaments, and 

ever she waited sorrowfully for the coming again 

of her husband, Nala. For in all this time he had 

never been heard of. 

Now it had happened to Nala that on finally 

leaving Damayanti he saw a mighty forest-fire, 

1 

Lit. 

Adityas, Vasus, Ashwins, and Maruts.


and from its midst he heard the voice of some crea- 

" 

ture crying, 

" Come to my aid, O mighty Nala ! 

Saying, " " 

Fear not ! the King stepped at once 

within the circle of fire, and beheld an enormous 

snake lying there coiled up. 

And the snake spoke, saying, 

" I have been 

cursed, O King, to remain here, unable to move, 

till one named Nala carry me hence. And only 

on that spot to which he shall carry me can I be 

made free from this curse. And now, O Nala, if 

thou wilt lift me in thy hands, I shall be thy 

friend, and do to thee great good. Moreover, 

there is no snake equal unto me. I can make 

myself small and light in thy hands. I beseech 

thee to lift me and let us go hence " 

! 

Then that great snake made himself as small as 

the human thumb, and taking him in his hands, 

Nala carried him to a place outside the fire. But 

as he was about to place him on the ground, 

the snake bit him, and Nala perceived that as he 

was bitten, his form had been changed. 

And the snake spoke, saying, 

" Nala, be comforted 

! I have deprived thee of thy beauty, that 

none may recognise thee. And he who has 

wronged and betrayed thee shall dwell in thee 

from this time in uttermost torture. Henceforth 

art thou in peace, and that evil one in torment 

from my venom. But go thou now to Ayodhya, 

and present thyself 

before the king there, who is


skilled in gambling. Offer him thy services as a 

charioteer. Give to him thy 

skill with horses, in 

exchange for his knowledge of dice. When thou 

dost understand the dice, thy wife and children 

will be thine once more. And finally, O King, 

when thou desirest to regain thy proper form, 

think of me and wear these garments." And 

saying these words that lord of Nagas gave unto 

Nala two pieces of enchanted clothing, and immediately 

became invisible. 

And Nala made his way to Ayodhya, 

and entered 

the service of Rituparna the King, receiving great 

honour as the Master of the Horse. And all the 

stables and their attendants were placed under 

him for ; Rituparna desired nothing so much as 

that his steeds should be fleet. 

But night after night the fellow officers of 

the charioteer who was known in the palace 

of Ayodhya as Vahuka would hear him alone, 

groaning and weeping, and listening they distinctly 

heard the words : 

" Alas ! where layeth she now 

her head, a-hungered and a-thirst, helpless and 

worn with toil, thinking ever of him who was 

unworthy 

? Where dwelleth she now ? On whose 

bidding doth she wait ? " And once, when they 

begged him to tell them who it was that he thus 

lamented, he told them in veiled words his whole 

story. "A certain person," he " said, had a beautiful 

wife, but little sense. The wretch was false. He


kept not his promises. 

Fate came upon him, and 

they were separated. Without her, he wandered 

ever to and fro oppressed with woe, and now, 

burning with grief, he resteth not by day nor night. 

At last he has found a refuge, but each hour that 

passes only reminds him of her. When calamity 

had overtaken this man, his wife followed him into 

the wild woods. He repaid her by deserting her 

there ! Abandoned 

by him, lost in the forest, 

fainting with hunger and thirst, ever exposed to 

the perils of the wilderness, her very 

life was put 

by him in danger. Yea, my friends, it was by him 

by him that she was thus deserted, by him, that 

very man, so foolish and ill-fated, that she was 

left thus alone in the great and terrible forest, 

surrounded on every side by beasts of prey, by 

" 

him, by him I 

With his mind dwelling thus on Damayanti, 

did Vahuka the charioteer live in the palace of 

Rituparna. And Damayanti, sheltered once more 

in her father's house, had one thought, and 

one only, and that was the possibility of recovering 

Nala. Now it was the custom amongst 

the Vidarbhas to send out Brahmins periodically, 

who, bearing the King's orders, wandered from 

town to town and from country to country, telling 

stories to the people from the holy books, and 

giving religious instruction wherever it was needed. 

It had indeed been by the aid of these strolling


teachers that Damayanti 

herself had been discovered, 

when she was acting as lady-in-waiting 

to a foreign princess. Now, therefore, 

it was decided 

that she should give them their directions, 

and try by their means to trace out her long-lost 

husband. They came to her therefore for instructions, 

and she gave them a song which they 

were to sing in all the assemblies that they should 

come to in every realm. 

" Whither, beloved Gambler, whither art thou gone, 

Cutting off one half my veil, 

Abandoning me, thy devoted wife, 

Asleep in the forest ? 

Ever do I await thee, 

As thou wouldst desire me, 

Wearing but half a veil, 

Enwrapt in sorrow. 

Relent, O King 

! O Hero ! 

Relent and return thee, 

To her who weepeth incessantly 

" 

For thy departure 

! 

" Crying thus, add to the part your own words," 

she said to the Brahmins, "that his pity be 

awakened. Fanned by the wind, the fire consumeth 

the 

" 

forest ! 

Again 

" Surely a wife should be protected 

her husband. 

And maintained by 

Strange that, noble as thou art, 

Thou neglectest both these duties !


Wise them wast, and famous, 

High-born and full of kindness. 

didst thou then deal to me this blow ? 

Why 

Alas, the fault was mine ! 

My good fortune had departed from me ! 

Yet even so, thou greatest, thou noblest 

Amongst men, even so, have pity, 

Be merciful to me ! 

" 

If, after ye have sung in this wise," said 

Damayanti to 

the Brahmins, " any should chance 

to speak with you, oh, bring me word of him ! 

I must know who he is, and where he dwelleth. 

But take ye great heed that none may guess the 

words ye speak to be at my bidding, nor that ye 

will afterwards return to me. And do not fail, I 

beseech ye, to seek out all that is to be known 

regarding that man who shall answer to your 

" 

song ! 

Having received these orders, the Brahmins set 

out in all directions to do the bidding of Damayanti. 

And their quest led them far and near, 

through cities and villages, into strange kingdoms, 

amongst forests, hermitages, and monasteries, and 

from one camp of roving cowherds to another. 

And wherever they went they sang the songs and 

played the part that Damayanti had laid upon 

them, seeking in every place, if by any means they 

might bring back to her news of Nala. 

And when a long time had passed away, one of 

these Brahmins returned to Damayanti, and said 

'\


to her, "O Damayanti, seeking Nala, the King 

of the Nishadas, I came to the city of Ayodhya, 

and appeared before Rituparna. But though 

I 

repeatedly sang thy songs, neither that King nor 

any of his courtiers answered anything. Then, 

when I had been dismissed by the monarch, I was 

accosted by one of his servants, Vahuka the 

charioteer. And Vahuka is of uncomely looks 

and figure, and possessed of very short arms. 

But he is skilful in the management of horses, 

and is also acquainted with the art of cookery. 

" And this Vahuka, with many sighs and some 

tears, came up to me and asked about my welfare. 

' 

And then he said, She should not be angry with 

one whose garment was carried off by birds, when 

he was trying to procure 

food for both ! The 

honour of a woman is its own best guard. Let her 

not be an-angered, against one who is 

consumed 

with grief. Noble women are ever faithful, ever 

true to their own lords, and whether treated well 

or ill, they will forgive 

he loved ! 

' 

one who has lost all 

Hearing this, O Princess, 

I hastened 

back to tell thee. Do now what seemeth best 

unto thyself." 

Words cannot describe the joy of Damayanti as 

she heard this news. 

She knew now where Nala 

was, and the task with which he was entrusted. 

It lay only with her woman's wit to find some 

means of bringing him to her father's house.


Having pondered long and carefully over the 

matter, she went to her mother, and in her 

presence sent for the same confidential servant 

a kind of chaplain to the royal household 

who had found herself and brought her back from 

exile to the city of the Vidarbhas. Having her 

mother's full sanction, but keeping 

the matter 

secret from Bhima, Damayanti turned to this 

Brahmin, Sudeva, and said, " Go straight as a 

bird, Sudeva, to the city of Ayodhya 

and tell Rituparna 

the King that Bhima's daughter, Damayanti, 

will once more hold a swayamvara. Kings and 

princes from all parts are coming to it. Knowing 

not whether the heroic Nala lives or not, it is 

decided that she is 

again 

To-morrow at 

to choose a husband. 

sunrise, say thou, when thou seest 

him, the ceremony will take place." And Sudeva, 

bowing before the Queen-mother and her daughter, 

left the royal presence, and proceeded to Ayodhya. 

When Rituparna heard the news, he sent immediately 

for Vahuka, 

the charioteer. If he desired 

in one day to reach the city of the Vidarbhas, 

there was only one driver in the world who 

could enable him to do so. 

" Exert thyself, O 

" 

Vahuka ! he exclaimed. " Damayanti, daughter 

of Bhima, holds to-morrow a second swayamvara, 

and I desire to reach the city this very day ! " 

Hearing these words Nala felt as if his heart 

would break. " " 

What ! he thought to himself,


" is this the madness of sorrow ? Or is it 

perhaps 

a punishment for me ? Ah, cruel is this deed 

that she would do ! It 

may be that, urged by my 

own folly, the stainless Princess cares for me no 

longer. Yet I cannot believe that she, my wife, 

and the mother of my children, could possibly 

dream of wedding any other. In any case, however, 

there is but one thing to be done. By going 

there I shall do the will of Rituparna, and also 

satisfy myself." Having thus reflected, Vahuka 

answered the King, saying, 

" O monarch, 

I bow to 

thy behest. Thou shalt reach the city 

of the 

Vidarbhas in a single day." 

Wonderful and eventful was the driving of 

Vahuka the charioteer that day. Never had Rituparna, 

or the servant who attended him, seen 

such skill. The servant indeed remembered, as 

he watched it, 

the fame of Nala. But he turned 

his eyes upon the driver, and seeing his want of 

beauty, 

decided that this could 

hardly be he, even 

though he should be disguised and living as a 

servant, in consequence of misfortune. Every 

now and then the chariot would rise into the sky, 

and course along with the fleetness of the wind. 

Like a bird would it cross rivers and mountains, 

woods and lakes. In a few seconds it would 

speed over as many miles. And Rituparna knew 

not how to express his delight in the skill of his 

charioteer. Words could not speak his anxiety


to reach the city of the Vidarbhas before nightfall ; 

and more and more, as the hours went on, did 

he become convinced that only with the help of 

Vahuka was this possible. But about noon the 

two became involved in a dispute about the 

number of leaves and fruits on a certain tree. 

Rituparna, who was a great mathematician, said 

there were so many, and his officer insisted on 

stopping the car, cutting down the tree, and 

counting, to see if the King's words were true ! 

Rituparna was in despair. He could not go on 

without Vahuka, and Vahuka was intent on verifying 

the numbers. However, the charioteer was 

sufficiently amazed and respectful to the King's 

knowledge when he had counted the fruits and 

found them to be correct. Then, in order to 

coax him onwards, Rituparna said, " 

Come on, 

Vahuka, and in exchange for thy knowledge of 

horses, I will give thee my knowledge 

of dice. For 

I understand every secret of the gaming-table. 

This was the very moment for which Nala had 

waited and served so long 

! 

However, he preserved 

his composure, and immediately the King 

imparted to him his knowledge. And lo ! as he did 

so, Koli, the spirit of darkness, came forth, invisible 

to others, from within Nala, and he felt himself 

suddenly 

to be released from all weakness and 

blindness, and to have again 

all his old-time 

energy and power. And radiant with renewal of


strength, 

the charioteer mounted once more on 

the chariot, and taking the reins in his hands, 

drove swiftly to the city of the Vidarbhas. 

As Rituparna, towards evening, entered the 

city, the sound of the driving of his chariot fell 

on the ears of Damayanti in the palace, and she 

remembered, with a thrill, the touch of Nala on a 

horse's reins. But, mounting to one of the terraces, 

she looked out, and could see only one who 

drove like Nala, but none who had his face and 

form. " " 

Ah ! she 

" sighed, if he does not come 

to me to-day, to-morrow I enter the funeral fire ! 

" 

I can bear no longer this life of sorrow ! 

The King of Ayodhya meanwhile, hastening to 

call on Bhima, began to think there must have 

been some mistake. He saw no other kings and 

princes with their chariots. He heard no word of 

any swayamvara. He therefore said that he had 

come merely to pay his respects. This, thought 

the King of the Vidarbhas, was a little strange. 

A man would not usually come so far and in such 

hot haste, in a single day, merely for a passing visit 

of courtesy. However, feeling sure that the reason 

would reveal itself later, he proceeded to offer 

Rituparna 

importance. 

the attentions due to his rank and 

Nala, however, had no eyes for anything about 

him. Buried in thought, he gave orders for the 

disposal of the horses, and having seen them duly


carried out, sat down with arms folded and head 

bent. At the sound of a woman's voice he looked 

up. A maid sent from within the palace was asking 

him, in the name of Damayanti, why and 

for what purpose had he and Rituparna come. 

" We came," answered the charioteer bitterly, 

" because the King heard that the Princess of 

the Vidarbhas would for a second time hold a 

swayamvara ! " " And who art thou ? " again 

asked the maiden. " Who art thou ? And who 

yon servant yonder ? Might either of ye by 

chance have heard aught of Nala ? It may even be 

that thou knowest whither King Nala is gone ! " 

" Nay, nay 

! 

" answered Vahuka. " That King 

in his calamity wanders about the world, disguised, 

and despoiled even of his beauty. 

Nala's self only 

knoweth Nala, and she also that is his second self. 

Nala never discovereth his secret to " 

any ! 

"And yet," replied the maid, "we sent a 

Brahmin to Ayodhya, and when he sang 

' 

Ah, beloved Gambler, whither art thou gone, 

Taking with thee half my veil, 

And leaving me, who loved thee, 

Sleeping in the woods ? 

Speak thou, great King, the words I 

long to hear, 

For I who am without stain pant to hear them ' 

! 

When he sang thus, thou didst make some reply. 

Repeat thy words now, I beseech thee. My 

" 

mistress longeth again to hear those words !


At this Nala answered in a voice half choked 

" She ought not to be angry with one whose 

garment was carried off by birds, when he was 

trying to procure food for both ! The honour 

of a woman is its own best guard. Let her not 

be angered against one who is consumed with 

grief. Noble women are ever faithful, ever true 

to their own lords, and, whether treated well or 

ill, they will forgive one who is deprived of every 

joy ! " 

As he ended, the King could no longer 

restrain himself, but burying his head in his arms, 

gave way to his sorrow ; 

and the girl, seeing this, 

stole away silently 

to tell 

all to the Princess. 

News was brought also to Damayanti of the 

greatness and power of Rituparna's charioteer. 

It was told her how on coming to a low doorway 

he would not stoop down, but the passage 

itself 

would grow higher in his presence, that he might 

easily enter it. Vessels at his will filled themselves 

with water. He needed not to strike to obtain 

fire, for on holding a handful of grass in the sun, 

it would of its own accord burst into flame in his 

hand. Hearing these and other things, Damayanti 

became sure that the charioteer Vahuka was 

no other than Nala, her husband. Yet, that she 

might put him to one more test, she sent her 

maid, with her two children, to wander near 

him. On seeing them, Nala took them into his 

arms and embraced them, with tears. Then,


realising how strange this must seem, he turned 

to the waiting-woman and said apologetically 

" They are so like my own ! But do not thou, 

maiden, come this way again. We are strangers 

here from a far land. We are unknown, and I 

would fain be alone." 

And now, having heard this, 

Damayanti could 

wait no longer, but sent for the permission 

of her father and mother, and had Nala brought 

to her own apartments. Coming thus into her 

presence, and seeing her clad just as he had 

left her, wearing only half her veil, the seeming 

charioteer was shaken with grief. And Damayanti, 

feeling sure that he was Nala, and seeing 

him as a servant, whose wont it was to be a king, 

could scarcely restrain her tears. But she composed 

herself, and said " quietly, Well, Vahuka, 

did you ever hear of a good man who went away 

and left a devoted wife, sleeping alone, in the 

forest ? Ah, what was the fault that Nala found 

in me, that he should so have left me, helpless 

and alone ? Did I not choose him once in 

preference to the very gods themselves ? And 

did he not, in their presence, and in that of the 

fire, take me by the hand, and say, 

' 

Verily, 

shall be ever thine ' ? Where was that promise, 

do you think, when he left me thus " ? 

And Nala answered, " In truth, it was not 

my fault. It was the act of Koli, who hath now 

G 

I

98 CRADLE TALES OP HINDUISM 

left me, and for that only, have I come hither ! 

But, Damayanti, 

was there ever a true woman 

who, like thee, could choose a second husband ? 

At this moment have the messengers of thy father 

gone out over the whole world, crying, Bhima's 

' 

daughter will choose again a husband who shall 

be worthy of her.' For this it is that Rituparna 

" 

is come hither ! 

Then Damayanti, trembling and affrighted, 

folded her hands before Nala, and " said, O dear 

and blessed lord, suspect me not of evil ! This 

was but my scheme to bring thee hither. Excepting 

thee, there was none in the whole world who 

could drive here quickly enough. Let the gods 

before whom I chose thee, let the sun and the 

moon and the air, tell thee truly that every 

And at 

thought of mine has been for thee " 

! 

the words, flowers fell from the sky, and a voice 

" 

said, Verily Damayanti 

is full of faith and 

honour ! 

Damayanti is without stain " 

! 

Then was the heart of Nala at peace within 

him. And he remembered his change of form, 

and drawing forth the enchanted garments, he 

put them on, keeping 

his mind fixed on the 

great Naga. And when Damayanti saw Nala 

again in his own form, she made salutation to 

him as her husband, and began to weep. Then 

were their children brought to them, and the 

Queen-mother gave her blessing, 

and hour after


hour passed in recounting the sorrows of their 

separation. 

The next day were Nala and Damayanti 

received together in royal audience by Bhima. 

And in due time, Koli being now gone out from 

him, Nala made his way to his own kingdom of 

the Nishadas and recovered his throne, and then, 

returning for his queen, Damayanti, and their 

children, he took them all back to their own 

home, and they lived there 

after. 

happily together ever

THE CYCLE OF THE RAMAYANA

As Mary the Madonna to the women of Christendom, so is 

Sita, Queen of Ayodhya, to them of Hinduism. Hers is 

indeed a realm beyond the aspiration of merely earthly 

sovereigns. For she is the ideal of womanhood itself, and she 

wields undisputed sway, in millions of hearts, over the kingdoms 

of love and sorrow, and stainless womanly honour and 

pride. Though beautiful and a queen, she never chose ease. 

To her the simple lives of saints and scholars were more joyous 

than all the luxuries of courts. She knew every mood of the 

forests, joining in their praise in the early morning, when birds 

wake and blossoms open and the dew is fresh and 

; bowing her 

soul with theirs in the evening adoration. She shared a throne, 

yet never forgot that for their people's good, and not for their 

own pleasure, do sovereigns reign. She knew the highest 

human happiness, and was not blinded by happiness. She 

knew the deepest and bitterest sorrow, and lived serene amidst 

her sorrow. Such was Sita, Queen of Ayodhya, crowned of 

love, veiled in sorrow, and peerless amongst women.

The City 

of Ayodhya 

To the north of Benares, between the Himalayas 

and the Ganges, stretches the country now known 

as Oudh, whose name long ago was Kosala. In 

the whole world, perhaps, can be few other 

lands 

so beautiful as was this, for it abounded in corn 

and in cattle and in forests, and all its 

people 

were prosperous and in peace. Kosala had great 

rivers, and fair places of pilgrimage, and noble 

cities, many and great. And she was surrounded 

on every hand by strong kings and powerful 

kingdoms. Yet was she the jewel amongst those 

kingdoms, and the centre of the circle. And, 

like a queen amongst cities, walled and moated, 

adorned with towers and stately buildings, and 

with numberless banners and flags and standards, 

stood Ayodhya, the capital of Kosala. And she 

was wonderful to behold. Thronged by the kings 

of neighbouring kingdoms was she, coming to her 

to pay their tribute ; frequented by the merchants 

and craftsmen of many lands ; 

full of palaces and 

parks, and gardens and orchards. And Ayodhya 

was famous, both for her wealth and for her 

learning. She abounded in rice and in jewels,

io 4 


and the waters of her wells and streams were 

sweet as the juice of sugar-cane. And her streets 

were thronged with heroes, and her 

cloisters with 

scholars and with saints. Her roads, moreover, 

were broad, and kept constantly watered, and 

strewn with flowers. Verily, 

like unto the sovereign 

city of Indra's heaven, was the city of 

Ayodhya, in the land of Kosala. 

Beautiful and beloved as she was, however, of 

her citizens and children, Ayodhya had yet one 

thing which they prized above all others. This 

was the memory of how once upon a time she 

had been ruled by a divine king. For the story 

went that long ages ago there had sat on her 

throne one Rama, who was the Lord Himself. It 

was said that Vishnu, being desirous of showing 

unto men what an ideal king should be, bodied 

Himself in this form, and Lakshmi, the divine 

spouse, dwelling from all eternity 

in the heart 

of God, took shape as Sita, the consort of Rama, 

and for one short generation of mortals, perfect 

manhood and womanhood were seen on earth, 

in these two royal lives. 

The ways of fate are mysterious, and the lives 

of men and gods how strangely different ! 

Surely 

for this it was that these sovereign careers were 

so full of sorrow. Yet never for one moment did 

Sita or Rama fail to remember that the well-being 

of their people is the highest good of monarchs.

THE CITY OF AYODHYA 105 

And the peasants of Oudh remember to this day 

" the kingdom of Rama," and pray, with longing 

in their hearts, for its 

return. 

Rama the Prince was the eldest son of the 

King Dasaratha and his wife Kausalya. He was 

highly trained and proficient in all the sports and 

accomplishments of knighthood and 

; along with 

his half-brother Lakshmana he had won his spurs, 

by making an expedition, under the guidance of 

one of the greatest scholars of the age, in which 

he had been able to survey 

the whole of his 

dominions, and had also rooted out and exterminated 

in their own strongholds certain notorious 

demons and outlaws, who had long troubled the 

peace 

of cities and ashramas in Kosala. It was 

at the end of this victorious journey 

that Rama 

and Lakshmana had been received with great 

honour by Janneka, King of Mithila, and given 

his daughters, Sita and Urmila, in marriage. 

The 

princes had been joined at Mithila on this 

occasion by their father Dasaratha, who was 

present at their twofold wedding, and took them 

back with him in his train to Ayodhya. 

What a dream of happiness had been the years 

that followed ! 

Bending their will in all things to 

that of their father, the princes had discharged 

with brilliance the duties of their high station. 

Rama especially, having truth and justice for his

io6 


prowess, became the joy of the whole people. 

Making their pleasure and welfare his sole object, 

he administered the affairs of the city needfully. 

And bending his wise mind to his young wife, Sita, 

and dedicating to her his whole heart also, Rama 

passed long hours of delight in her sweet company. 

She charmed him, say the old records, 

as much by her loveliness as by her dignity and 

nobleness, and still more by her goodness than 

by her loveliness. And she in her turn, by her 

perfect sympathy and graciousness, was able to 

enter into every thought and feeling of Rama, so 

that the bond of her wifehood was one of joy as 

well as duty. And those who saw Sita and Rama 

together, felt them to be in truth one soul, and 

inseparable, even as Vishnu, the Divine Lord, cannot 

be separated in the thoughts of men from 

Sree, the divine grace. 

Now seeing his son Rama so full of virtues and 

accomplishments, there arose a desire in the heart 

of the old King Dasaratha to have him made king 

before he himself should die. And being much 

troubled by certain inauspicious omens observed 

by the royal astrologers omens which were apt to 

portend trouble, and even to bring about the deaths 

of kings he felt that the coronation would be 

well made without delay. Therefore he called to 

his presence a royal council, and when the 

nobles 

and ministers were all assembled, he told them


his whole mind, and asked advice. " It 

may be," 

said he gently, ending his statement and appeal, 

" that my longing desire, and also my weariness, 

obscure my judgment. Well do I know that from 

the voices of many in conference is truth brought 

forth." As the King ceased speaking, there arose 

the sound of a restrained resonance, as of many 

talking softly together. The nobles and the 

Brahmins, the ministers and great citizens, discussed 

quietly amongst themselves the new proposal. 

At last, having come to a common 

decision, they appointed their own spokesman, 

and announced to Dasaratha their sympathy and 

agreement with all his wishes. And when the 

whole assembly, at the end of this address, 

raised their clasped hands to their heads like so 

many lotuses, in token of their acquiescence, the 

King felt an inexpressible relief and joy. He 

sent messengers for Rama, summoning him to 

appear before the council, and these, receiving 

homage from him, acquainted him with his intention 

of 

installing him on the morrow as 

his immediate successor. Then, having again 

received the homage of his son, Dasaratha 

dismissed the assembly, and began to make preparations 

for the forthcoming ceremony. 

Scarcely had the counsellors and officers of 

the household dispersed, when the King, retiring 

to his own apartments, sent once more for his

io8 


son, and talked with him long and quietly regarding 

his own wishes, the ceremony of the 

morrow, and the possibilities of his future policy. 

Reminding him, at last, of the necessity that both 

Sita and himself should pass the night in prayers 

and austerity, Dasaratha dismissed him, and Rama 

sought the presence and blessings of his mother, 

Kausalya, before returning finally 

to his own 

palace. There he was followed almost immediately 

by the priest of the royal family, with 

minute instructions for the evening observances, 

and the hours that remained were spent accordingly. 

Now the news of the installation had gone 

out through 

all 

Ayodhya. The streets and 

thoroughfares were thronged with excited people. 

Every house was decorated with raised flagstaffs 

and flying pennons. The terraces and verandahs 

of the city were filled with groups of watchers. 

Garlands and incense and great branching lampstands 

had been brought out for the adorning 

of the roadways. Even frolicsome lads, playing 

about the city, knew only one theme, and stopped 

their games to talk eagerly together of the anointing 

of the prince that would take place on the 

morrow. 

Yet amidst all this joy, the heart of Dasaratha 

the King was filled with a strange unrest. He 

could not forget that his dreams of the night 

before had been ill-starred. And he had a


feverish desire to hurry on the installation, for 

his mind turned, with a curious foreboding, to 

his second son Bharata, now absent from the 

ill to Rama. 

city, as the source of some possible 

Bharata had never failed in the course of duty, 

nor did the King in any way suspect 

his motives. 

Yet something, he knew not what, whispered to 

him that it would be well to crown Rama in 

the absence of Bharata. 

There lived in the palace of Dasaratha, in the 

apartments of the youngest queen, Kekai, a certain 

humpbacked woman, of malicious temper, 

who acted as an attendant. This woman, returning 

from a 

journey, and making her way into 

that palace whose splendour was like that of the 

moon, found all 

Ayodhya at work, having the 

streets watered, strewn with lotus-petals, and ornamented 

with pennons. She saw too the crowds 

of freshly-bathed worshippers, heard the chanting 

of music of rejoicing, saw the thresholds of 

the temples sprinkled with white powder, and 

perceived the fragrance of sandal-wood in all 

the water. There could be no doubt, in fact, 

that the city was keeping some unexpected 

festival, and she was not slow to acquaint herself 

with the reason. 

Through this woman, then, came to Kekai 

the news of the approaching coronation of Rama.

no 


On first 

hearing it, 

the young Queen was filled 

with delight, and tossed a costly and beautiful 

jewel to her handmaid, in token of her pleasure. 

But the woman knew how to poison the mind 

of her mistress, and an hour or two later, when 

Dasaratha came to call on Kekai, in order to 

acquaint his youngest wife in person 

with his 

plans regarding Rama, the servants told him, 

to his consternation, that if he would find her, 

he must follow her to the anger-chamber. 

There, in truth, lay the King's wife even, if 

the truth were known, 

his favourite wife on 

the bare floor, like a fallen angel, having cast 

away her garlands and ornaments. Clad in 

garments that were not fresh, her countenance 

clouded with the gloom of wrath, she looked like 

a sky enveloped in darkness, with the stars hidden. 

Like unto the moon rising in a sky covered 

with fleecy white clouds, so did Dasaratha enter 

into the mansion of Kekai. Like a great elephant 

in the midst of a forest, did he seek her out, in 

the anger-chamber, and, gently carressing her brow 

and hair, ask what he could do to comfort her. 

Again and again did he promise that nothing she 

could ask would be in vain. 

At this Kekai rose, and called upon sun and 

moon, night and day, the sky, the planets, and 

the earth, to witness to the King's words. And 

having done so, she reminded him of how she

THE CITY OF AYODHYA 

in 

had once nursed him back to life, in his camp, 

in time of war, and how he had then promised 

her two boons, which it would lie with her to 

name. To-day, at last, she would claim these 

boons. She desired that her husband should 

banish Rama to the forests, sentencing him to 

live for fourteen years the life of a hermit. And 

she desired further that her own son Bharata 

should be installed and crowned in his stead as 

heir-apparent. 

At first the King indignantly refused Kekai's 

absurd requests. Then, comparing her habitual 

sweetness and nobility with her present extraordinary 

conduct, he wondered if she had suddenly 

become insane. Finally, he pleaded and remonstrated, 

striving 

to make her withdraw her request. 

The affection he had hitherto felt for 

this youngest and most charming 

of his three 

queens began now to seem to him like a disloyalty 

to Rama's mother. He wondered if he had 

caused her pain and loneliness. He saw his 

whole life as an error, and he prayed for 

mercy. 

But Kekai, in her present strange and cruel 

mood, was inflexible. She spoke only to remind 

the King of the heinousness of a broken promise. 

Again and again she insisted that the word had 

been given, and it must be kept. And in the 

morning it was she who sent messengers to

ii2 


summon Rama to an early audience of his father, 

to be given in her presence. 

It was she also, 

standing behind the seat of the afflicted monarch, 

who fixed piercing eyes on the kneeling prince, 

and asked whether he had strength to fulfil a 

vow taken by his father. 

Rama answered in surprise, that for Dasaratha, 

his father and his king, he would leap into the 

fire, or swallow deadly poison. And when his 

mind was thus prepared, amidst the groans and 

sighs of her husband, she commanded the prince 

that day to leave the kingdom, and withdraw to 

the forest for fourteen years, there to live the 

life of the most pronounced ascetic, while her 

own son Bharata would ascend the throne and 

reign in his stead. 

Not a shadow passed over the face of Rama 

as he listened to this demand. Nor did those 

outside the palace, who saw him a few minutes 

later, perceive in him the slightest sign 

of mental 

trouble. Fully agreeing with Kekai that the King's 

word must at all costs be kept, touching his 

father's feet with his head, and seeking in vain 

to offer him consolation, he cheerfully gave the 

pledge his stepmother required, and turned away, 

as happily as he had come, to make preparations 

for the day's departure. 

He had recognised in his own mind, the 

moment he heard the words of the young Queen,


that she was merely voicing the will of some 

power behind herself. Never before had he had 

to make any distinction between the honour due 

from him to his own mother and to her. Nor 

had she ever before distinguished, in her affection, 

between himself and her own son Bharata. Yet 

here was she, the daughter and wife of kings, 

ordinarily possessed of an excellent disposition 

and highly accomplished, speaking harshly and 

cruelly in the presence of her husband, like 

the most ordinary of women ! To the mind of 

Rama, this was incomprehensible. Therefore he 

put it aside, as the working of destiny, over 

which neither Kekai nor he could have any 

control, and set himself to fulfil it. He laughed 

quietly with Lakshmana at the jars of water, 

standing in rows, which had been carried by the 

servants for the coronation " 

ceremony. Verily," 

said he, " water drawn with my own hands from 

the well, would be more fit for the ceremonies 

that will to-day accompany 

hermit ! 

" 

the vows of a 

But he knew well that of the two things, the 

forest-life or a throne, the forest was more glorious. 

And with a glad heart he made preparations to 

leave without delay. Lakshmana would fain have 

led an armed rebellion against Dasaratha, in favour 

of Rama. 

Kausalya would willingly have measured 

forces with Kekai for the protection of her son. 

H

u 4 

But Rama, whose mind did not waver for a 

moment, soothed and calmed all opposition, and 

made it understood that his decision was final. 

The King's word must be made good. 

Sita, in the inner apartments of her own palace, 

had spent many hours in the morning worship, 

and stood now, waiting for the return of her 

husband. 

She half-expected him to return to her, 

duly installed and anointed, covered with the 

white umbrella of state, and surrounded by innumerable 

attendants. 

Instead of this, he entered 

her presence with a look of hesitation, showing 

signs, with regard to her, of uncontrollable emotion. 

Reluctantly he told her that this meeting was their 

farewell. He must wend his way to the forest, 

and live for fourteen years in banishment. 

Tears had sprung to the eyes of the princess at 

but when 

the thought that they must be parted, 

she heard the reason, she recovered all her gaiety. 

Life in the forest had no terrors for her ; 

the loss 

of a throne occasioned her no regret ; 

if 

only she 

might follow her husband, and share his life and 

its hardships 

with him. And so at last it was 

arranged. Rama, Sita, Lakshmana, presented 

themselves before Dasaratha in full court, and 

there doing homage and saying farewell, they 

received from the hands of Kekai the dress of 

ascetics, and set out immediately for the life of 

exile in the forest.


And it came to pass that some days later, when 

Bharata, the son of Kekai, returned to Ayodhya, 

he found that his father, Dasaratha, had died of 

grief. 

And when he discovered why and by whom 

this had been caused, he fell 

upon the humpbacked 

serving-woman, and in his wrath, although 

she was a woman, had almost slain her, 

till 

she, 

in her despair, took refuge in the name of Rama, 

and was spared. And when they told the young 

prince that the kingdom was his, he could hardly 

speak for wrath and shame. For in the eyes of 

Bharata there was none so beloved as his elder 

brother Rama. Likewise to him was his allegiance 

sacred, for he regarded Rama as his King. 

Bharata, therefore, withdrew from Ayodhya 

leaving 

the sandals of Rama on the throne of the 

King, under the shadow of the royal umbrella 

and stationed himself at Nandigrama, to rule the 

kingdom in his brother's name. Thus Kekai had 

not even the satisfaction of acting as the mother 

of the sovereign, for by 

Bharata's own orders all 

men continued to regard Rama as the monarch, 

and Kausalya his mother as the Queen-mother.

The Capture 

of Sita 

How delightful to Sita, Rama, and Lakshmana 

were the years of their forest-exile ! Wherever 

they went they were 

welcomed by companies of 

hermits, and admitted to the forest ways of life. 

Thus they were quickly established in huts made 

of leaves, and carpeted with the sacred grass, like 

other ascetics. Quickly, too, had they arranged 

their accessories of worship, and gathered together 

their small stores of necessaries. And without 

loss of time Sita fell into the habit of cooking for 

her husband and brother, like any peasant-woman, 

and serving them with her own fair hands. Now 

and then it would happen, during their first years 

in the forest, that they came upon some great 

saint, who would recognise Rama at the first 

glance 

as the Lord Himself. But more often 

they met with ascetics of a commoner mould, 

who understood the personal prowess of the royal 

brothers, and begged them, with folded hands, to 

rid the forests of the demons and brigands who 

were apt to make the life of the ashramas one of 

danger. 

So Rama and Lakshmana, armed with royal 

116

THE CAPTURE OF SITA 117 

weapons, ranged through the forests, slaying and 

maiming the demon-races everywhere. For this 

reason, all evil beings became their foes. And 

far away, in the Island of Lanka, Ravana, the 

ten-headed king of demons, determined to compass 

the death and destruction of Rama. 

While these royal anchorites, therefore, sat 

in the evening shadows of the forest, watching 

the last low rays of the setting sun, and talking 

together on high themes while Sita fed the birds 

; 

and called the squirrels to eat from her hands or 

her lips ; 

or while they all watched the green 

steeds that go in the dawn before the chariot of 

Indra, evil was brewing for them in the distant 

south. One of the kindred of Ravana had been 

scarred and disfigured 

by Rama, and not by any 

means could the Ten-headed forget. 

One morning Sita was busied in little household 

offices, going to and fro about the hermitage, 

gathering flowers for the day's worship here, or 

fruits for the noonday meal there. Suddenly she 

noticed, at some distance, a small 

and very beautiful 

deer, feeding and playing 

in the shadows of 

the trees. In colour this deer was bright golden. 

Its hair looked strangely soft and thick, and it 

was near enough for the Queen 

to observe the 

exquisite fineness of its hoofs, and the delicacy of 

ears and eyes. 

Some strange enchantment had surely, that

n8 


morning, fallen upon Sita, for she, who was 

usually so merciful to all living things pleading 

for their lives with her husband and his brother 

was now all eagerness that this deer should 

be caught. She foresaw long years in Ayodhya, 

when she would keep 

it as a palace pet. And 

when at last it should die, its skin should be used, 

by Rama or herself, as the seat of worship. 

Shamefacedly, and in a whisper, she called her 

husband and brother-in-law to see the little creature 

and hear her wishes. Lakshmana was by no 

means taken by the animal. He suspected some 

magic spell, and warned both Sita and Rama 

to be on their guard. But these suspicions 

seemed groundless ; Sita's longing to possess the 

deer continued ; 

and Rama was so desirous of 

giving her pleasure that, without loss of time, he 

attired himself for the chase, and seizing his 

weapons, and commending 

care, 

sallied forth. 

his wife to his brother's 

The deer had a curious way of leading him near 

enough to take aim, and then vanishing, only to 

reappear in some unexpected 

direction. This it 

did time after time, and Rama was led far afield 

in pursuit. The sun had already passed noon, 

and the shadows were beginning to grow long, 

when, at last, the hunter succeeded, and an arrow 

was lodged in the heart of the quarry. Then the 

form of the deer dropped away, 

and out of it rose


the fiend-wizard Maricha, who exclaimed loudly 

three times in Rama's own voice, 

" O Sita ! O 

Lakshmana ! 

" and vanished. 

Far away in their distant cottage 

Sita heard 

these cries of Rama, and shivered with terror, for 

she knew not what might have happened to her 

lord. She turned, therefore, and entreated Lakshmana 

to leave her and go and seek for Rama. All 

through the hours of that terrible day, she had 

dimly felt that evil was drawing nearer and nearer 

to them all, 

yet not so distinctly could she foresee 

its nature as to be able to ward it off. Now, 

however, all these fears and vague presentiments 

were concentrated in her anxiety about her husband's 

fate. Lakshmana, too, had not been without 

forebodings, but these made him extremely 

averse to leaving Sita alone. He could not 

imagine Rama at a loss and requiring his assistance, 

but he felt gravely responsible for the safety 

of the young wife. So keen, however, grew the 

trouble of Sita, and so insistent was her urging, 

that at last there was nothing for it but to go. So, 

warning her not to leave the shelter of the cottage 

during his absence, Lakshmana went forth to seek 

for Rama. 

Scarcely had he gone, when a holy man appeared 

at the door, asking alms. Dreading to 

be uncharitable, Sita turned to speak with him 

and offer him the usual hospitality. She felt ill


at ease, however. She could not forget that 

she was alone. And above all, she little liked 

the looks that the mendicant cast at her from 

time to time. Trying to conceal her agitation, she 

looked out in the direction whence she might 

expect to see Rama return from his hunting, together 

with Lakshmana. But on all sides she 

beheld only the yellow forest-lands. Neither 

Rama nor Lakshmana was in sight. 

Soon she discovered that the Brahmin who 

stood before her was not what he seemed. The 

rags and matted locks of a holy man were only 

a disguise adopted by Ravana, the ten-headed 

Demon-King, who had come, in the hope of 

carrying her away. Horrified at the dilemma 

in which she had so rashly placed herself, the 

courage of Sita, and her confidence in her husband, 

never wavered for an instant. She warned 

the Demon-King that he might more safely offer 

violence to the wife of Indra himself, the Wielder 

of the Thunderbolt, than to her, the wife of 

Rama. For an insult done to her, none, she 

said, should escape death, not though 

the nectar of immortality. 

he drank 

At these words, Ravana suddenly assumed his 

proper form, vast, and having ten heads and 

twenty arms. Having done this, he seized Sita 

by force, and rose, carrying her, into the sky. 

Weeping as she went, Sita cried aloud, charging


everything around her, the rivers, lakes, and trees 

nay, the very deer who must be moving beneath 

her to tell Rama, on his return, that she had 

been seized by Ravana. At her cries, it is said, 

the king of the eagles awoke from his agelong 

slumbers in the mountains, and flung himself 

at Ravana, 

for the rescue of Sita. Nor was it 

till 

every ornament had been riven from Ravana's 

person, his weapons broken, and his flesh made 

torn and bleeding nay, not till the lordly eagle 

himself had received his death-wound, that the 

king of birds desisted from that fierce encounter. 

Then Sita darted towards the prostrate body, and, 

stroking it with her hands, wept in the midst of 

the forest, calling on Rama and Lakshmana to 

save 

her. 

Suddenly Ravana swooped down on her 

once 

more as she stood, with her faded garlands 

falling backwards, vainly clasping a friendly tree 

and seizing her by the hair, rose again, bearing 

her into the sky. 

And the veil of yellow silk that she wore 

streamed in the wind, looking like sunset clouds 

against the sky. And when the invisible beings of 

the upper air saw this sight, it is said that they 

rejoiced, for to them the capture of Sita meant 

the death of Ravana, and they regarded the release 

of the world from his terror, as already 

accomplished.


But the daughter of Janneka, being borne through 

the air by Havana, looked like lightning, shining 

against dark clouds. Like stars dropping from the 

sky, because their merit is 

exhausted, so did her 

golden ornaments begin to fall to the earth. And 

the anklets flashed as they dropped, like the circling 

lightning. And her chains shone, even as the 

Ganges throwing herself from heaven. And 

showers of blossoms fell from her head to the 

earth, and were drawn up again by the whirlwind 

of Havana's swift passage, so that they studded 

the space about him as he went, in a ring, and 

looked like rows of burning stars, shining about 

a 

sombre mountain. 

And the trees, waving their branches in the 

agitation of this flight, strove to whisper, " Fear 

" 

not ! Fear not ! And the mountains with their 

waterfalls and their summits towering upwards 

like uplifted arms, seemed to lament for Sita. 

And the lotuses faded in the pools, and the fish 

became troubled, and all the creatures of the forest 

trembled, for wrath and fear. And the wind 

wailed, and the darkness deepened, and the world 

wept, while Sita was borne away by Ravana to 

his island-kingdom of Lanka in the south. 

But she, as she went, seeing five great monkeys 

seated on the top of a hill, conceived a sudden 

hope that by their means she might send news to 

Rama, and flung down amongst them, unseen by


Ravana, certain ornaments, and also her yellow 

veil. 

And Rama, wending his way homeward through 

the distant forest, after the slaying of the deer, 

noticed that the jackals were howling behind him, 

and had not a doubt that some ill had befallen 

him. A moment later he met Lakshmana, and 

knew Sita to be alone. 

But when the two heroes, shaken with anxiety, 

reached their cottage, and found that she had 

vanished, the anguish of 

Rama was impossible to 

he re- 

describe. At first, hoping against hope, 

fused to believe that she was lost. But when 

at last there was no conceivable hiding-place 

that had not been searched and found empty, 

when the silent forest had failed to answer his 

despairing questions, when every call had been 

echoed back from the desolate wilderness, then 

Rama came to the conclusion that Sita had been 

devoured by demons, and with the bitterest selfreproaches, 

he fell into a stupor of grief.

The Conquest of Lanka 

Now when the morning had come, and Rama 

and Lakshmana, ranging the forests, had found 

some of the flowers and jewels of Sita, it 

appeared 

as if 

Rama, calling up his divine energy, would 

annihilate the world. Filled with rage, girding 

himself tight with bark and deerskin, his eyes 

red with anger and his matted hair pulled up 

short, he stood in the forest, shortening his bow 

and taking out flaming arrows with which to 

shoot, even as Siva, the Destroyer, 

in the act to 

destroy. But Lakshmana, overcome with pity 

for a sorrow that could so move his brother to 

a wrath never shown before, soothed him, and 

spoke to him words of patience and encouragement. 

Let him first try caution and energy. Let 

him strive for the recovery of Sita. if 

Only he 

should fail in this, would there be need, with his 

arrows of celestial gold, flaming 

like the thunderbolt 

of Indra, to set himself to uproot 

the world 

from its foundations, scattering its 

fragments 

amongst 

dead stars. 

Being thus calmed, and following the marks 

of conflict, drops of gore, jewelled arrows, and 

124

THE CONQUEST OF LANKA 125 

pieces of golden armour, they came gradually 

nearer and nearer to the scene of the battle 

between Ravana and the eagle. At last they 

reached the spot itself, to find the king of birds 

with both his wings cut off in the encounter, 

breathing his last. Between laboured gasps he 

told them of the struggles he had witnessed, and 

the cries he had heard. He was able also to 

utter the name of the Demon-King. But when 

he would have told them more, he died. And 

the Lord, filled with gratitude and compassion 

for this feathered hero, performed over his dead 

body those ceremonies of piety which lift the 

soul to the higher regions. And then, making 

their way from point to point, the two brothers 

persisted in their quest 

of Sita. 

It was in the forest that bordered the beautiful 

lake of Pampa, with its red and white lotuses, 

that they met with a band of monkeys whose 

chieftain, Sugriva, was mourning the capture of 

his own wife at the hands of an enemy. Strange 

to say, 

it had been into the midst of this very 

Sugriva's council that Sita had dropped her scarf 

and ornaments, and these were now brought forth 

for Rama's inspection. At sight of them he was 

overcome, for 

the things were undoubtedly Sita's, 

though Lakshmana was able to recognise only 

his anklets. Then the monkeys created branches 

of fragrant and beautiful blossoms to shade their

i26 


king and his guests, 

and all sat down and entered 

together into consultation. But first the great 

monkey, Hanuman, son of the Wind God, produced 

a fire 

by means of two pieces of wood. 

Then, worshipping the flame with flowers, he 

placed it carefully between Rama and Sugriva, 

and they went round it 

together, and so were 

fastened in friendship. And it is said that at 

that moment, in her distant prison, the left eye 

of Sita throbbed for joy 

her lord and the monkey-chief. 

at that alliance between 

It was agreed between the two sovereigns 

Sugriva and Rama that the King of Kosala 

should first slay Vali, the enemy of the monkeys, 

and restore his own wife to Sugriva. This 

having been done, Sugriva, on his side, would 

undertake to discover the hiding-place of Sita, 

and to furnish troops for the conquest of Ravana 

and the destruction of his strongholds. This 

expedition could not, 

it was determined, be 

undertaken in the rainy season, but immediately 

on the setting in of autumn, 

it should be carried 

out without fail. 

Scrupulously 

did the two human allies fulfil 

their share of this treaty. Within a few days 

Sugriva's enemy was slain, and his wife restored 

to him. But alas, for the instability of the 

monkey-nature He became ! straightway immersed 

in woodland frolics, and Rama saw the


precious days and weeks slipping 

away from him, 

while, as far as he could see, no preparations 

whatever were being made. This, 

it must be 

said, was not literally true ; 

for Hanuman, the 

monkey general and councillor, had already 

remonstrated with his sovereign regarding this 

unseemly delay, and had been despatched by 

Sugriva to collect an army. So when Lakshmana 

at last went, with manly directness, to protest 

against perfidy and want of faith, their ally was 

able to point to the gatherings of hundreds of 

thousands whom he could see about him, and 

to assure him that in many other parts 

and bears would be 

forests formidable monkeys 

found stationed, each with another army 

of the 

in his 

keeping, waiting to receive their marching orders. 

The first point was to find out the whereabouts 

of Sita, and for this purpose Sugriva divided the 

hosts of monkeys, ordering some to search in the 

north-east, others in the north-west, and still others 

again in the distant south. His own reliance, 

however, was placed mainly on the prowess and 

energy of the great Hanuman, who was going 

with the southern army ; 

and when he said so 

to Rama, the King gave this emissary a ring 

engraved with his own name, to be a token to 

Sita, should he find her, of whence he came. 

But many weeks of unavailing search went 

by before Hanuman, Son of the Winds, swelling


himself to a vast size, and concentrating 

all the 

energy of his mind, leapt at one bound across 

the sea, and landed in Lanka, the island-kingdom 

of Ravana. Having done so, the powerful 

monkey paused. High on a mountain-top before 

him, gleaming in inconceivable loveliness of level 

terraces and soaring spires, he saw the famous 

city of Lanka ; 

and he took counsel with himself 

as to the means by which he might enter her. 

Finally he determined to wait for sunset, and 

when that hour came, he reduced himself to the 

size of a cat, and so entered the city. 

It was, in truth, like some dwelling-place of 

the gods. Its many-storied buildings and fretted 

screens were studded with crystal. Great archways 

and splendid gates lent it their grandeur 

in all directions. Its streets and roadways were 

and its 

broad and well-cared for. Magnificent were its 

towers of victory. Beautiful were its lanternpillars. 

Its houses were like palaces, 

tombs like dainty marble canopies. Wonderful, 

verily, was this Lanka, famous throughout the 

world, ruled over by the might of Ravana, and 

vigilantly guarded by night-rangers 

of terrible 

strength. Oppressed by the thought of this 

glory, the spirit 

of Hanuman became sunk in 

gloom ; when suddenly, as if on purpose to 

comfort him, the full moon arose in all her 

splendour with the stars. And the great monkey


looking up, saw her, lovely with the sheen of a 

white conch-shell, wearing the tint of a white 

lotus, arisen and afloat in the heavens, like a 

beautiful swan swimming in a lake. 

Hour after hour of that night did Hanuman 

range, without success, through the mansions of the 

great lords of Lanka. In and out of their halls 

and apartments he went ; 

not a single sleepingchamber 

did he leave unexplored. Even the 

palace of Ravana saw him enter it, and the 

ten-headed king, sleeping off the night's intoxication, 

knew not that a little 

monkey, whose visit 

boded no good to him or his, drew near in the 

small hours of the morning, and peered at him, 

as he lay on his great sleeping-dais of polished 

crystal. But nowhere, in any of those mansions 

or great houses, did Hanuman find 

The Queen of Ayodhya, in fact, 

Sita. 

within a few 

hours of entering Lanka, had been banished to 

a park of asoka-trees, and placed there in charge 

of demon-women, powerful to look upon, and 

instructed to torment her. Ravana had quickly 

realised that favours could have no influence over 

his proud captive, and had determined to try on 

her the effect of harsh treatment. Now Sita was 

the daughter of the Earth-Mother. It was told 

of her that her father in her babyhood had found 

her in a ploughed furrow. To her, therefore, the 

open grove, and the wide air, 

and running streams 

i


were more bearable than the close walls of the 

palace, with its luxuries, had been. She was too 

deeply wrapped in sorrow to notice the faces or 

the treatment of her women guards. She had 

not even tasted food while in captivity For 

on the first night of her imprisonment the God 

Indra, casting the people of Lanka into an enchanted 

sleep, had appeared before her, bringing 

in his hands the food and drink of Heaven, which 

take away from mortals all hunger and thirst. 

And when the Queen was afraid to touch his gifts, 

lest he should prove in truth to be some other, 

wearing the guise of the King of Heaven, he 

shone forth before her for a moment with his 

divine attributes, and then she ate and drank 

fearlessly from his hands of the food of the 

Immortals. Thus had she lived in her gardenprison 

during the weary weeks and months of 

her separation from Rama, and here, as the dawn 

approached, did Hanuman find her, feeling sure 

that his quest 

was ended. 

Seated beneath a tree beside the river was a 

woman weeping. Pale and worn she was, and 

clad in threadbare silken garments of worship. 

But the bent head had about it 

something queenly, 

and the veil was worn with a grace unknown to 

the demon-women of Lanka. The monkey could 

see, moreover, 

that this woman before him was 

fair of tint, and very beautiful. Her air, with all


its 

grandeur, had also in it something 

dainty and gentle. He held his breath, 

that was 

for he 

could hardly doubt that this was that Sita whom 

he sought, the captive wife of Rama. As he 

waited and watched, however, quivering with the 

excitement of his discovery, whom should he see 

enter the garden but the great ten-headed Ravana 

himself ! 

Bowing low before the prisoner, the 

Demon-King took a seat at some distance from 

her, on the grassy bank, turning himself to face 

her, and the monkey bent his ear to a level with 

the branch on which he sat, the better to hear 

each syllable that might pass. 

At the approach of Ravana the pale Queen had 

grown still more pale, and Hanuman could see 

that she was trembling with fear, like a green 

plant in the wind. But when her visitant began 

to speak, a red spot burnt on her cheeks and a 

light in her eyes, and she raised her head haughtily, 

as if it could hardly be to her that he presumed to 

address himself. To most of what he said, she 

listened as if she scarcely heard. Once, indeed, 

her captor waited, as if 

expecting some reply. 

But she answered " only, I have warned you 

already, O Demon-King 

! that the deeds you 

have done, and the words you now speak, will 

be punished with death. Only one who desired 

to mock the gods, and bring ruin upon himself, 

could act as you have the daring 

to do."


Then again she sat, 

looking before her into space, 

as if she neither saw nor heard. 

When Havana at last left the garden, in rage 

and disgust, he sent back into it the demon-guards, 

and they encircled the beautiful Sita, tormenting 

her. And she, finding herself in the midst of 

them, like a fawn encircled by wolves, burst into 

tears, and sobbed to herself, with broken words 

of sorrow and endearment, for the loss of Rama. 

At this the demon-women drew back somewhat, 

finding little amusement in their sorrowful prisoner. 

But though this was the very opportunity that 

Hanuman had waited for, yet he was afraid to 

address the Queen suddenly, 

lest she should be 

startled and call her guards. To avoid this, 

therefore, he began to run about, talking to himself 

about Rama, in order to attract her attention. 

At last his mistress looked up. 

" Oh, dear 

Brother of the Woods," she said, " do you also 

know the beloved name " ? 

" Madam," answered the monkey very quietly, 

" I think that you 

are she whom I was sent to 

find. If so, tell me what is your state here." 

t( I am Sita," answered the captive, in a low, 

subdued voice, "daughter of Janneka of Mithila, 

and wife of the son of Dasaratha. And I am 

imprisoned here, under sentence of execution. 

Two moons hence, 

I am condemned to die." 

Then Hanuman hastened to tell her all he


could of Rama : that he was well that ; day and 

night he brooded on the thought of her rescue ; 

that he had gathered together a great army for 

the overthrow of Lanka ; 

and finally, that he 

himself had been deputed by him to find out, 

and report on, her place of concealment. 

At all this news Sita was overjoyed. Yet 

she was not without doubt also. For Havana 

had the power of taking other shapes at will 

Already he had approached her as her own 

mother, and again he had appeared before her as 

Rama himself, in the hope that she would at least 

speak kindly to him, which only a miracle had 

prevented her doing. Now, therefore, she could 

not even be sure that this monkey was what 

he seemed to be. She dreaded another of the 

demon's 

tricks. 

Then Hanuman came forward and placed at 

her feet the engraved seal of Rama, 

sent her as a token. 

that he had 

Hurriedly Sita lifted the jewel and concealed 

it in her hair. Tears broke from her eyes, and 

she sobbed with joy. Then, with nervous, trembling 

fingers she took from some part of her dress 

a charm that her husband had given her, and 

told her messenger 

at the same time to remind 

the King of a certain great hawk who had wounded 

her and been slain by him, as they sat together 

one afternoon in the gardens of Ayodhya. By

i 34 


the twofold token of the talisman and the memory, 

she knew that her place of imprisonment would 

stand accredited. 

" Lady," said the monkey, as he put 

his cold 

nose down on the earth to salute her, before 

leaving the garden, " how easily could I 

carry 

you home to Rama on my back am ! I larger 

think. The matter to me 

and stronger than you 

" 

would be a small one ! 

The Queen had drawn herself back as he spoke, 

and a change had come over her 

face, as though 

she remembered that other wild flight through 

the evening shadows, when Ravana, like some 

gigantic bird of prey, had carried her through 

the skies to Lanka. " " 

Oh no ! she said, half 

hesitating, lest she should hurt her servant, yet 

wholly firm, " I could not let any one take me 

" 

home except my husband himself ! 

" " 

And that is well ! said Hanuman, feeling deep 

satisfaction within himself at her reply. " For I 

think that my master also would desire for himself 

the honour of liberating you. 

It will not be 

long till he reaches you, and then you 

will be 

royally avenged. But now I feel my wild monkeynature 

hot within me, and I have it in mind to do 

Ravana some mischief ere I leave this place." 

A whisk of his tail, and another salutation, and 

he was gone, leaving the captive lonely indeed, 

but full of hope. Next day she remembered his


parting words with secret smiles for news was 

brought to her that in the orchards of the demons 

all the young fruit had been destroyed in a single 

night, by a terrible monkey, who had slain numberless 

guards, and had been seen at one bound 

to leap across the sea. 

Rama, meanwhile, had ranged his army in 

order, and tested his command. When Hanuman, 

therefore, returned with his welcome news, 

he was ready to order the march upon the seashore. 

The next problem was that of taking the 

troops across the straits. At 

the fiercely-impatient 

prayer of Rama, Ocean himself now appeared to 

him, and reft his own bed upwards to form the 

basis of a bridge from the mainland to Lanka. 

Then all the hosts of monkeys came forward with 

branches and logs and trunks of trees, and built 

the whole into a firm and lofty structure, steady 

enough to withstand the tides of the salt sea. And 

the people tell how even the little squirrels helped 

in the building of the bridge to Lanka, bringing 

stones and shells and broken nuts to make it 

smooth. And for this, when the work was ended, 

the Lord took one of these smallest workmen in 

his hand, and stroked him, blessing him, from head 

to tail. And because of this blessing 

of Rama it 

is that the Indian squirrel wears three white 

stripes on his dark fur they are the finger-marks 

of the blessing of the Lord of the Universe.


Thus was built the bridge that spans 

to this 

day, the straits beside the great pearl-fisheries of 

Manaar. And when it was finished, the troops 

were brought safely across it ; 

and all knew that 

the very next step would be the seizing of Lanka, 

the destruction of Ravana, and the release of 

Sita. 

All this time Mandodari, the wife of Ravana, 

had been imploring her husband to set his prisoner 

free. But he had answered only with expressions 

of contempt for Rama, and boasts of his own 

had been 

power. When the forces of the enemy 

brought across the sea, however, everything was 

changed. Ravana himself, 

it was said, had leapt to 

his feet in consternation when the news was heard. 

The hostile army was now at their very gates and 

; 

the prospects that only the day 

before were still 

unclouded, looked very grave. For in Lanka, by 

this time, they judged of the power of each one 

of Rama's soldiery by that of Hanuman, who in 

a few hours had destroyed, unaided, all their 

orchards. 

Mandodari now, therefore, was joined in her 

pleadings by her husband's own brother. " Set 

the " stranger free," they entreated, while yet there 

is time to save the city 

! Rama is in the right, 

and fate itself must fight upon his side " 

! 

To his brother, Ravana gave some curt reply, 

that drove him in anger out of his presence. But


to his wife he was exceedingly gentle. " My 

beloved," he said, 

" it is the enemy's duty to 

avenge himself upon us, if he can. Would you 

rather that your husband and sons died, 

if die 

they must, whining for mercy, or bravely, as good 

knights should, contending for their prize ? " 

Then Mandodari felt that her husband had 

spoken his secret thought, that he and her boys 

would die, and she be left childless and a widow. 

But she uttered no cry, nor shed even a tear, for 

them afraid. 

she knew that her work now must lie in strengthening, 

not in making 

Some hours later Rama and Lakshmana, in 

their camp, saw an officer with soldiers drawing 

near to them under a flag of truce. He dismounted 

on reaching them, and said, 

" Gentlemen, 

we, the people of Lanka, are entirely in the 

wrong in this matter. I have come to offer you 

my alliance." It was Vibhishana, the brother of 

Ravana, with his men-at-arms. 

The princes received him as an honoured guest, 

and proclamation was made, that on the taking of 

Lanka he should be appointed governor. 

Almost immediately after this the storming of 

the city began, and it is told in an old book that 

Lakshmana saw 

during the course of the siege 

an archer on the walls take aim at Vibhishana to 

shoot him. The brother of Rama remembered 

only, in that moment, 

that the deserter was their


guest, and ran forward to receive the arrow, says 

the teller of the tale, as a man might run to embrace 

his beloved. Thus was the life of Vibhishana 

saved, though 

that of Lakshmana himself was 

well-nigh lost. The siege lasted many days, but 

the town finally fell, and only the fortress remained 

to be attempted. 

And now, at last, did Rama achieve his heart's 

desire, for he engaged in single combat with 

Ravana, and slew him with his own hand. Then 

the great doors of the castle were flung open, and 

the moment had come for the return of Sita.

The Ordeal 

of Sita 

RAMA'S whole heart was filled with the longing 

to see Sita, and renew once more the life-sweetness 

which had been broken that morning when he 

left her to catch the golden deer. Yet he was 

no mere mortal, full of blind impulse, a prey to 

the chance-born desires of the passing moment. 

He foresaw that if their reunion was to be secure, 

it must take place in public, and must be accompanied 

by some proof of his wife's honour and 

devotion which could never be shaken in the 

popular mind. There could be no happiness 

for Sita if her subjects did not love her and 

trust her implicitly. There could be none for 

him if her name were not lifted high above the 

stain of suspicion or reproach. 

But the first duty that awaited him had nothing 

to do with these questions. He was at this 

moment at the head of a conquering army. His 

first responsibility lay in protecting the city, 

with its women, its children, and its treasures, 

from his own forces. He hastened, therefore, 

to crown and proclaim Vibhishana King of Lanka. 

This done, he called Hanuman secretly, and, 

139


bidding him obtain the permission 

of the new 

King to enter the city, sent him to Sita to 

acquaint her privately with his victory. 

Publicly he proffered a formal request to Vibhishana 

that he would personally escort the 

Queen of Kosala to his presence. She was to 

come, moreover, wearing the robes and jewels 

proper to occasions of state. The loving heart 

of the woman would have prompted her to fly 

to the shelter of her husband just as she was, 

in the mourning garments of her captivity. But 

Vibhishana reminded her gently of the sacredness 

of a husband's expressed wish, and she 

submitted immediately to the tiring which this 

imposed. Hard, verily, are the roads that princes 

walk ! 

Treading at each step on her own heart, 

must Sita make her way to her husband's side. 

At last the Queen was ready and entered the 

closed palanquin, with its 

hangings of scarlet 

and gold, in which she would be borne into the 

presence of Rama, Vibhishana himself riding 

before her to announce her coming. At the 

city gates, however, came the request that she 

should alight and proceed through the open 

camp on foot. Scarcely understanding, and so 

absorbed in the thought of seeing the King that 

she had little care for any minor detail, Sita 

rose from her seat in the covered litter and 

stepped out on the broad road. Round her, to

THE ORDEAL OF SITA 141 

right and left, were the soldiery. In front was 

seated Rama, in full audience, with grave and 

solemn air. All eyes were on Sita, who had 

never, since her childhood to this hour, been 

seen in public. Instinctively the knightly Vibhishana 

realised the embarrassment this must 

cause to the shrinking and sensitive Queen, and 

he was in the act of ordering the dispersal of 

the crowds, so as to leave the meeting 

of the 

royal pair unwitnessed, when Rama put up his 

hand and stopped him. " Let all stay ! " he commanded. 

" This is one of those occasions when 

the whole universe becomes the veil of woman, 

and she may be seen by all without sin ! " 

Nearer and nearer came Sita meanwhile, with 

slow and regal step. Her eyes were drinking in 

every line, every movement of her husband's face. 

He rose to receive her ; 

but all men saw that he 

looked not towards her, but stood with head 

bowed and downward-gazing eyes. How beautiful 

was the Queen How ! stately and full of 

grace she looked And ! yet, decked as she was 

in royal ornaments, there was that about her 

which spoke more plainly still, assuring all who 

looked on her that here was a woman of true 

and noble heart, a humble and loving wife, 

fit 

to be, as she was, the crown and support 

of all 

the happy homes throughout her land. Every 

man in the hosts that day held his breath in


awe and reverence, at the revelation seen in her 

of what great womanhood should be. 

At a sign from her husband, and a few paces 

away, the Queen stood still, and Rama looked 

up and addressed her in thick, constrained tones. 

" Havana has been duly defeated and slain," he 

said. "Thus has the honour of Ayodhya been 

vindicated to the utmost. It is for the Queen, 

whom he separated from her husband, to say in 

what guardianship, and with what establishment, 

she will now choose to live. Thy wishes, O 

gentle one ! 

" 

he added, addressing her for a 

moment directly and swept away by his own 

tenderness, " shall be carried out in full. But 

it is not seemly or possible 

to restore to her old 

place one whose fair fame has been sullied by 

residence in the palace of Havana." 

At these words the Queen stood, in 

her sudden 

astonishment and pain, like one who had been 

stabbed. Then she raised her proud 

head to its 

proudest height, and, though her lips quivered 

and the tears fell, without her will, her wonderful 

voice rang out untremulous. " My character," 

she said, " must indeed be misconceived. Even 

Rama, it seems, can mistake my greatness, and 

truly then am I undone ! Yet if my 

lord had 

but told me, while yet 

I was imprisoned in Lanka, 

that it was for the honour of Ayodhya he would 

recover me, I would indeed have spared him all


his labours. How easy had it been to me to 

die there, only 

I 

supposed that other motives 

moved him ! 

Go, Lakshmana, and make for me 

here a funeral pyre ! Methinks that is the only 

remedy for the disaster that has come upon me." 

This, then, was Sita's desire for guardians and 

establishment ! Lakshmana looked towards his 

brother in anger and surprise, but, receiving only 

a quiet gesture, hastened to have the funeral pyre 

prepared. The face of Rama was like that of 

Death himself in the hour of the final destruction 

of all things, and none present dared to 

speak to him. As for Sita, her tears were now 

raining down ; 

but still she stood there, waiting 

patiently. 

When the wood had been piled 

and the fire set 

blazing, Sita walked three times round her husband, 

standing in his place, with head bowed, and it 

was evident to all that her heart was full of sweetness. 

Then, coming forward to the fire, and 

standing 

before it with her hands folded as for 

prayer, she said, " Do thou, O Fire, the witness 

of the worlds ! 

protect me, whose heart has been 

ever true ! Take 

me to yourselves, O ye pure 

flames ! for unto the Lord of Purity the pure 

fleeth." 

Saying this, and walking three times round the 

pyre, the Queen, having bidden farewell to the 

world with undaunted heart, entered into it. Like


gold being set upon a golden altar was the stepping 

of Sita into that flaming 

fire. And lamentations 

arose on all sides from amongst the lookers-on. 

But lo, as her foot touched the pyre, voices of 

angelic 

sweetness were heard from heaven chanting 

the glory of Rama, and the mystery of the 

ineffable union of the Divine Being with His own 

divine grace. And there advanced from the 

heart of the fire to meet Sita, Agni, the God of 

Fire, Himself. Supporting her with his right arm, 

and stepping out from amongst the flames, the 

divinity bore her forward to Rama, whose face 

had suddenly become radiant with joy, and gave 

her to him, joining them together. 

" 

She is thine own, O Rama " ! he said " 

; 

she 

is thine own ever faithful and true to thee, in 

thought, word, and deed. Lo, at my command 

is it that thou takest her back unto thee. For I 

have spoken, and she is thine own ! 

And Rama said, receiving her, "Verily, my 

beloved, no doubt was in my mind concerning 

thee. Yet was thy vindication needful, 

" 

in the 

presence of all our people. Truly art thou mine. 

Think not thou canst be divided from me. Thou 

art mine, and I could not renounce thee, even 

as the sun cannot be separated from his own 

rays." 

And as they stood thus, wedded once more 

as in their youth by man, so now by 

the God of


Fire Himself it seemed to all present as if the 

gates of heaven were suddenly swung backward 

above them, and they saw Dasaratha, seated in 

his car, blessing Sita as well as Rama, and hailing 

them King and Queen of Ayodhya. 

It was true that the fourteen years of their 

exile were ended, and as 

Rama understood from 

this vision that the soul of his father would not 

be in peace till his coronation was finally accomplished, 

he did everything that was possible to 

hasten their departure. A day or two passed, 

distributing wealth and rewards amongst the 

soldiers, and then mounting 

with Sita into the 

royal car, drawn by white swans, they coursed 

swiftly through the sky, and arrived at Ayodhya. 

It is told of the days that followed that, Rama 

governing that kingdom, widows were not distressed, 

nor was there fear from wild beasts nor 

from disease. The people were safe from robbers, 

and there was no other trouble. The old were 

not called upon to perform the funeral ceremonies 

of the young. All were happy together, nor 

did they envy 

one another. And the trees bore 

fruits and flowers perpetually. Showers fell 

whenever they were desired. And the winds 

blew pleasantly. And all men became pious 

and truthful under the rule of Rama, and his 

kingdom 

fortune. 

was blessed with all the marks of 

K


How happy would have been the story 

if it 

had ended thus ! So did the great poet Valmiki 

intend it. And so for hundreds of years must 

men have known it. But in some later age, by 

an unknown hand, a sequel was written, and this 

sequel is strangely sad. It tells how the terrible 

ordeal of Sita had not after all been enough, or 

perhaps had taken place too far away, to' satisfy 

her people. The murmuring and suspicion that 

Rama had foreseen, did, after all, break out, and 

when he heard this the King knew that it was 

useless to fight against the inevitable, Sita and 

he must henceforth dwell apart. For the good 

of his subjects a king must be willing to make any 

sacrifices, and it could never, he felt, be for their 

well-being that their sovereign's conduct should 

be misunderstood. But though his will was thus 

heroic, Rama could not trust himself to see Sita 

and say his last good-bye to her, face to face. 

He sent her, therefore, in the care of Lakshmana, 

to make a long-desired pilgrimage to the hermitage 

of Valmiki, on the far side of the Ganges. 

There Lakshmana was to give his parting messages, 

and take farewell of her. 

Oh how terrible was the desolation of Sita 

on this occasion ! There was, indeed, the consolation 

that she understood her husband, and 

he her. The last words of each for the other 

made this separation of theirs like the plighting


of a solemn troth. Yet she knew that their parting 

was to be for ever. She would be always with 

him in spirit, but neither might hope to look 

upon the other's face again. 

Twenty years passed in this retirement, under 

the guardianship of the wise and fatherly Valmiki, 

whom the twin sons of Sita regarded as a kind 

and beloved grandfather. But when twenty 

years had gone by there came to Valmiki's hermitage 

the news of a royal sacrifice at Ayodhya. 

Now the saint had already composed Ramayana, 

and taught 

it to Lava and Kusa, the sons of 

Rama. He determined, therefore, to take the 

boys to Ayodhya and let them sing the poem 

before their father, on the occasion of the 

sacrifice. 

Long before it was finished, Rama had realised 

that the lads before him must be his own. It 

took many days to chant the poem, but the King 

and his counsellors listened greedily to the end. 

Then, with a sigh, Rama turned to the great 

Valmiki and " said, Ah, 

if 

only Sita were here ! 

But she could never consent to a second trial of 

" 

her honour ! 

" " 

Let me ask her ! answered Valmiki, who 

longed above all things to bring this husband 

and wife together once more, for the happiness 

of 

both. 

To the surprise of Rama, word was brought


that Sita would consent next day to go through 

a second public trial, this time by oath instead 

of by the fiery ordeal. 

The morning came. The King and all his 

ministers and attendants were seated in state, 

and vast crowds, of all ranks and from all parts 

of the country, were admitted to see the trial of 

Sita. 

In came the Queen, following after Valmiki. 

Closely veiled, with head bent, hands folded, 

and tears in her eyes, she walked ; 

and it was 

easy to see that all her mind was meditating 

upon Rama. A murmur of praise and delight 

broke from all the spectators. Little did any 

one there dream of what they would shortly see 

happen ! 

As Valmiki presented the Queen to Rama 

and to the assembly, and as Rama turned to call 

upon her to swear to her own faithfulness and 

sincerity, before all their people, every one noticed 

that a cool and fragrant breeze began to blow, 

as if 

betokening the nearness of the gods. No 

one, however, was prepared for the effect of 

Rama's words on Sita. 

That proud though gentle soul had borne all 

that was possible to her. Perfect in sweetness 

and perfect in submission, she had endured twenty 

years of loneliness without murmuring. But all 

now had come to an end. " " 

O divine Mother ! 

she 

" thou great Earth-Goddess, 

if it be 

cried,


true that in my heart I have never thought of 

any other than Rama, then for my wifely virtue 

take me to Thyself ! If constantly, by thought, 

word, and deed, 

I have prayed for his welfare, then 

for this great virtue do Thou " 

give me refuge 

! 

And as the weary cry rang out, a wonderful 

thing happened. The earth opened, and a great 

carried on the heads of 

jewelled throne rose up, 

Nagas, lords of the underworld. On the throne 

sat the Earth-Goddess, stretching out her arms 

to take to herself this child of hers, who had 

cried to her for refuge ; and celestial flowers 

rained upon both, as the throne re-entered the 

earth. At the same time voices were heard from 

the heavens, saying, " Glory, glory unto Sita " 

! 

And as the Queen and the Earth-Mother passed 

out of sight of men, the whole universe passed, 

for one moment, it is said, into a state of holy 

calm. 

One heart, however, did not share this peace. 

The mind of Rama was torn with grief. And 

true as Sita had been to him, so true was he ever 

after unto her. For the performance of those 

ceremonies in which the help of a queen was 

necessary, he had a golden image made of his wife, 

and went through his official actions by 

its side. 

So passed all things, until that hour had struck, 

beyond which no man may delay, and when 

that came, Rama and his brothers bade farewell


to the world, and going out of Ayodhya 

to the 

river-side, they entered into their divine bodies, 

and were seen no more in the world of men. 

And ages passed by, and the story of their 

days became a memory, 

for there were none 

left on the earth, of all those who had lived 

beneath their sway.

THE CYCLE OF KRISHNA

The Birth of Krishna, the Indian 

Christ-Child 

" " 

Thou Supreme bliss of Devaki ! 

KANSA, the tyrant king of Mathura, was wicked 

and oppressive beyond the power of men to bear. 

The very earth cried out against his injustice 

and evil deeds. And then, for the comforting 

of those who could endure no more, a prophecy 

began to be whispered about, regarding the 

slaying of the tyrant. And the origin of this 

prophecy was indeed most strange. 

Kansa had a great love for his sister Devaki 

and also for Vasudeva, one of his nobles, and his 

friend. He exerted himself, therefore, to bring 

about a marriage between the two, and when the 

wedding was over, he himself acted as charioteer, 

to drive them both to the home of Vasudeva. But 

lo ! on the way, a voice spoke to him from heaven, 

saying, " The eighth child of this couple, O Tyrant, 

shall be a boy, who in his twelfth year shall slay 

" 

thee with his own hands ! At these words, all 

Kansa's love for the bride and bridegroom turned 

to hatred. Swiftly he turned the horses' heads, 

153


and driving back to Mathura, whence they had 

come, cast Devaki and Vasudeva into the dungeons 

underneath his palace, there to endure imprisonment 

for life, that he might the more easily slay 

each child of theirs at birth. And now this had 

happened seven times, that a child had been born, 

and Kansa had destroyed 

it save indeed once. 

For one child, the boy Bolarama, had been carried 

away secretly, and the King had been told that he 

was already dead. Now, however, had the time 

come for the fulfilment of the prophecy. And 

Devaki and her husband waited in their prison 

for the coming of that child who should be the 

deliverer of His people. 

Outside, the wind wailed, and the rain fell, and 

the waters of the Jumna rose, as if in flood. The 

night was wild, whereon would come to earth 

Krishna, the Holy Child. Within, in the dungeons 

of Mathura, Devaki and her husband Vasudeva 

waited, trembling ; for they knew that to-night, 

of a truth, would be born as their son that soul of 

whom it 

had been foretold that he, and no other, 

was the destined slayer of Kansa. Was it not for 

that very reason that they at this moment were in 

prison ? And their hearts were sore within them, 

for what welcome could they offer to the coming 

child ? Knew they not, only too well, that with 

the morning Kansa himself would visit them, to 

kill the babe with his own hands ? Terrible was

THE BIRTH OF KRISHNA 155 

the time of watching, 

while the storm howled 

without, round them rose the bare forbidding walls 

of the prison, and in the heart of poor Devaki the 

hope and love of a mother struggled with sadness 

and fear. 

Slowly, slowly the hours went by, till midnight. 

And then, just as the bell of the great water-clock 

outside the palace began to boom out the hour, 

the hearts of the mother and father were filled 

with joy, for at that very moment, their Babe had 

come to them. In that one brief instant, as she 

held Him in her arms, Devaki forgot the ordeal of 

the morrow, forgot the cruel death that awaited 

her Child, and knew only the bliss of the mother, 

who welcomes the newly-born. 

At the moment of His birth, the prison was 

filled with a soft light, streaming out from the 

Babe Himself, and as He lay back in His mother's 

lap, they saw shining out from behind Him four 

arms. One hand held the shank or battle-trumpet ; 

another the discus ; 

a third the mace ; 

and in the 

fourth was a lotus on its stem. Then Devaki and 

Vasudeva knew these for the signs of Vishnu, and 

they worshipped the Child, saying the 

as Narayan, 

salutations, 

Saviour of the World. But as the 

salutations ended, the veil of Maya descended 

upon them once more, and the Child appeared to 

them as their own babe. All about them now, 

however, they heard voices. At first they did not


trust to their own ears, thinking the sounds were 

of the wind and rain. But presently, listening, 

they heard distinctly the words, " Arise I Take 

the young Child, and leave Him in the house of 

Nanda, Chief of the Cowherds, in the village of 

Gokool, and bring hither the girl-child who has 

just been born there." 

What could be meant by telling a prisoner, 

unable to leave his prison, to rise and carry a 

baby to a village on the far side of the Jumna ? 

How could Vasudeva open the dungeon doors ? 

How could he pass the guards ? How, if he did 

all this, would he be able to cross the Jumna 

itself on coming to it at this late hour ? Yet 

the feeling of some incomprehensible power was 

strong upon them, and they were full of terror 

for the fate of the Child on the morrow. So 

Vasudeva yielded himself to the bidding of the 

unknown. He arose, lifted the Babe, covered 

Him with his own garment, and, staff in hand, 

went forward to the prison-entrance. To his 

amazement the bolts slid back, the locks turned, 

the chains fell softly, and the heavy doors swung 

outwards of their own accord before him. Outside, 

the guards and soldiers slumbered heavily, 

and no one woke, as Vasudeva, with the Babe 

Krishna hidden beneath his robe, passed into the 

open road. 

Here the storm was even worse than it had


sounded from within the prison. Heavily the 

warm rain fell, and the winds raged, and the man's 

heart was heavy with foreboding, as he listened to 

the rushing of the great river in the distance, and 

wondered how he should reach its further bank. 

At this very moment, 

in the darkness before 

him, he saw a jackal, and silently resolved to 

take 

the wild creature as his guide. On went the 

animal ; 

on followed the man, until they came to 

the river-side. Then the jackal plunged in at a 

certain place, and proceeded to make his way 

over, and Vasudeva, seeing that here there must 

be a ford, step after step went across in his wake. 

And men say that in the guise of this jackal, for 

protection of the Divine Child, it was Durga, 

Queen of Heaven and Mother of the Universe, 

who had come to earth that night. 

But it is told that, as they went, the Babe grew 

heavier and heavier in His father's arms, 

till all at 

once He slipped and would have drowned, only 

just in time he caught Him back and bore Him 

safely on. For Mother Jumna also longed to take 

the Lord into her keeping, and fold Him for a 

moment to her breast. 

At last came Vasudeva with his precious burden 

to the village of Gokool, and to the dwelling-place 

of Nanda, the King of Cowherds. Softly the door 

of the great farmhouse opened before him, and, still 

obeying the same gentle guidance that had led him


forth from the prison, he entered, and saw a light 

burning in the first room within the doorway. 

The lamp stood by the bedside of a sleeping 

mother and a new-born child. Quietly, quietly 

Vasudeva bent down and exchanged the children. 

To the farmer-chieftain's wife he gave the Babe 

he carried, and from her side he took the little 

daughter who slept there. Then, without a word, 

he turned and went back by the way he had come, 

to the dungeons of Kansa, in the city of Mathura, 

and gave the girl-child of Nanda to his own wife, 

Devaki. 

Great was the rejoicing amongst the cowherds 

when they 

all woke up in the morning and 

found that the child whom they remembered as 

a girl 

was really a boy. For this was the only 

explanation of the mystery that occurred to them. 

It is said indeed that that morning there was no 

food to eat in the house of Nanda, for all the pots 

of milk and curd fell from the hands of the women 

when they heard the news, in their astonishment 

and delight. Then thousands of people came, and 

every one was fed, and wealth was distributed and 

there was great rejoicing. So this is 

always kept 

in 

India as Nanda's Feast, and on the day before, 

as the people believe, there is 

But in the stronghold of Kansa, 

always rain. 

it was told that 

morning that a child had been born in the night 

to Devaki and Vasudeva. Then was the heart of


the tyrant hot within him, and he came down into 

the dungeons in person, attended by all his guards, 

that he might with his own hands slay this child, 

who, was it said, had been born to be his destroyer. 

To the King's amazement, however, he found 

that the child was not a boy at all, but a girl. 

Had Kansa been less wicked and tyrannical he 

would have rested here. A girl 

could hardly, at 

the age of twelve, be the slayer of a man. And 

the prophecy had pointed distinctly to a boy. 

But evil men are blinded by their own wickedness. 

The very unexpectedness of the event enraged him, 

and he put out his hand to seize the babe by the 

foot, and dash it to pieces against the prison walls. 

As he touched it, however, to the astonishment of 

all present, the seeming child slipped from his 

grasp, and high above their heads rose the shining 

form of a goddess. " 

He who shall slay thee, 

O King, 

is even now growing to manhood," she 

said, mockingly, " in the village of Gokool on the 

far side of the Jumna," and then, as they looked, 

the radiant being faded away, and none could tell 

even the direction in which she had disappeared. 

But wrath and mortification filled the heart of 

Kansa the Tyrant, and for many a long year thereafter 

he knew no rest, in his burning 

zeal to outwit 

the gods, and end the life of the Child Krishna, 

ere yet He should be old enough 

to become his 

slayer.

The Divine 

Childhood 

BY the advice of his counsellors, the Tyrant Kansa, 

knowing that his future slayer had been born, and 

was living somewhere within the dominions of 

Mathura, determined now to send out his emissaries 

for the killing of all new-born children, 

everywhere. And he had under his command 

powerful beings of his own kindred, known as 

demons, or Asuras, who were able to assume any 

shape at will, and could fly through the sky. 

Some of these therefore he sent forth secretly 

for the slaughter of innocent babes, throughout 

his dominion. And it came to pass that one 

evening, as the shadows grew long, the Vampirenurse 

Putana, who was one of them, having 

wandered through cities, villages, and forests, destroying 

infants, arrived at Gokool. And the form 

which she assumed to enter the place was that 

of a woman so resplendent in beauty, that the 

people supposed her to be some goddess, come 

to offer worship and benediction at the cradle of 

their chieftain's son. Going hither and thither as 

she would, secretly observing the youngest of the 

children, Putana came finally to the great house 

1 60

THE DIVINE CHILDHOOD 161 

of the village, that of Nanda, and entering found 

the Child Krishna. As she bent over Him, to 

take Him into her arms, the Babe saw and understood 

her real nature, and closed His eyes ; 

and in 

that moment she lifted Him. But the women 

who were sitting or standing near suspected no 

evil. They noticed only the apparent sweetness 

and beauty of the stranger, and never dreamt 

that this was in truth the dreaded Vampire-nurse, 

whose caress was death to all babies, and her 

heart like 

a sharp sword encased in a hard scabbard. 

A moment later, and with many endearments, 

she had begun to feed the child. Now 

the breast of Putana was full of deadly poison. 

But the Babe only touched her with His little 

mouth, apparently giving a single gentle tug, as 

babies do, and lo the ! 

very 

life of the witch was 

drawn out of her. With a loud cry of rage she 

fell to the earth, and as she did so, all her beauty 

dropped away from her, and showed itself to have 

been only a disguise. Every one, hearing the yell 

of the dying Vampire, hastened to the spot, but 

there lay the Divine Child laughing and kicking, 

as if He never guessed that by a touch of His 

of children had 

mysterious strength, the enemy 

been slain ! But when the news reached Kansa, 

of the death of his messenger, and the Child that 

could not be killed, he became sure that Krishna 

was that very Babe of whom the voice had spoken, 

L


and he determined to 

leave no stone unturned to 

compass His death. 

Never was mortal woman happier than Yasoda, 

wife and queen of Nanda, and foster-mother of 

Krishna. Day after day, as the months went by, 

she held Him in her lap, and fed and played with 

Him, or soothed Him gently to sleep. For what 

was He, after all, but a baby ? Not even by her, 

as yet, was it 

suspected what was His great 

strength, or Who He was. One day she was 

called away for something, and before going, she 

turned and laid the Child down on the ground, 

in the shadow of a disused bullock-cart. It had 

long stood idle, and had come to be used as a 

sort of dairy-table, for it was covered now with 

great jars containing milk for butter and curds. 

These in their turn were protected from dust with 

grass and leaves, and over the whole were the 

bamboo mats that acted as the waggon hood. 

Here, then, in the shadow lay the Babe, and 

about Him, in the farmyard, played other 

children. And now did the Demon Shakat enter 

into the cart, thinking 

it would be easy to fall 

and crush the Infant, by a seeming accident. But 

the little one who lay there was the Lord Himself 

! 

Nothing 

could deceive or baffle Him. At 

the very instant when the waggon began to break, 

He gave a kick with His tiny foot, and lo 1 the 

cart, with all that stood on it, 

was thrown to the


other side of the farmyard, and Shakat-Asur, the 

demon, was killed. Hearing the noise, people 

came in astonishment from every part of the farm, 

and great was their happiness to find the Babe 

still 

living. But when they heard from the rest 

how it had happened, what were they to believe ? 

He was as yet too young even to creep about. 

Only Yasoda, clasping her Heart's-Joy tight between 

tears and laughter, felt that there was 

something here beneath the surface, that they 

none of them understood. Strange dangers 

threatened the life of her little one. Wondrous 

wisdom and strength were hidden within Him. 

These things to her, His mother, 

it was easy to 

accept. 

One day, as she nursed Him with all her tenderness, 

she suddenly felt Him grow as heavy as 

a mountain, and was obliged to lay Him on the 

ground. At that very moment, a great black cloud 

enwrapped them both for an instant, and when it 

passed on, she saw the Babe Krishna rising higher 

and higher above her, clinging, as it 

seemed, to 

the very throat of a whirlwind. 

In agony watched 

the mother, while all about Gokool the air 

grew 

black with storm and dust. On swept the hurricane, 

yet with course impeded, as it seemed, by 

the weight of the Being it struggled to carry. 

Moments passed of terrible suspense, in which the 

distracted mother and weeping women of the


village ran hither and thither, as if to find or 

catch the Boy. Then there came a lull, and 

down, down, down, into the midst of Gokool, fell 

the Demon of the Hurricane, with his Baby- 

Destroyer still holding him by the throat ! 

Yasoda, indeed, had many curious experiences, 

and found much to ponder over. When her little 

Son was old enough to crawl about on all-fours, 

He became very difficult to keep in order. He 

would constantly besmear Himself with mud, and 

even put earth to His lips and eat it. So His 

gentle foster-mother was compelled to be angry 

and punish Him. Then the Child cried, but as He 

opened His mouth, she, watching Him, seemed to 

be smitten into a trance, for she saw there revealed, 

as if within Him, all the worlds, in all their 

manifold gradations of existence. The whole infinite 

Universe within that one Babe Krishna ! 

And the mortal, unable to bear the revelation, 

closed her eyes, trembling, 

till the kind gods drew 

over her sight once more the veil of illusion, and 

she was able to look upon the Divinity before her 

as if He were nothing but her Son. 

The little hands were busy with everything. 

There was no keeping this rogue out of mischief. 

So one day, when Yasoda was at work about the 

house, she tied about the Child a long rope, which 

was attached, at its other end, to an old and 

broken axle of a cart-wheel, and thus protected,


left Him to play alone. Not far off stood two 

ancient trees, with a tiny gap between them. 

But Yasoda, leaving Him, had no fear for her 

Baby, for His tether was long and the axle heavy. 

He could play and scramble and crawl, she 

thought, to His naughty little heart's content, and 

yet never be able to move very far from where 

she had put Him. 

This was reckoning, however, without her host ; 

for when no one was near, crawling here and 

crawling there, the child actually managed to 

creep between the two great trees Then on and 

! 

on He went, dragging His rope and its axle after 

Him, till at last the weight was wedged tightly 

in the gap. At this He gave a slight jerk, and 

suddenly, without more ado, those two lords of 

the forest fell with a crash, and Krishna near by, 

on His hands and knees, was found laughing 

quietly, 

not the least afraid ! 

But now a strange thing befell. Out of those 

trees, in the presence of every one for all had 

run to see what was happening, thinking, in fact, 

that a thunderbolt had fallen came two bright 

spirits, telling how for ages they had lain imprisoned 

there beneath a spell, that could only 

be lifted by the touch of the Lord. Then they 

offered salutations, and worshipped the Liberator 

of Souls, before they disappeared. 

Another day, after the Child had begun to

i66 


toddle, a woman came to the farmstead with 

fruit to sell, and Krishna, desiring to have some, 

ran into the house, and returned to her, carrying 

the necessary handful of rice, but letting 

it stream 

out in all directions between His open fingers. 

The fruit-seller was so pleased with the look of 

the Child, and so touched with His feeble effort 

to pay her justly, that she insisted on giving Him 

all the fruit He wanted, and could hardly be persuaded 

to take anything in return. Her scruples, 

however, were overcome, and she consented to 

accept the little one's offering, when behold, as 

He poured the remaining rice into the knotted 

corner of her veil tied like a bag for the carrying 

of it each grain, touching the cloth, became 

a jewel 

! 

Another of the little fellow's tricks was to make 

His way into 

the dairies of His village friends and 

help Himself, on behalf of His friends the monkeys 

and birds, to cream and butter and other good 

things. Every one liked Him to do this, yet they 

felt that it would never do to let Krishna grow up 

a thief ! So the dairy-wives came in a body, and 

complained 

to Yasoda. Then Yasoda scolded 

to tie 

Him, and at last took her churning-rope 

the little hands together. But her whole churningrope 

was two finger-lengths too short to make a 

knot about the wrists of her ! 

Boy Then she 

found another, and tying them together, tried


again, then another, and another, and another. 

But it was all to no purpose. All the ropes of 

the farmhouse, added to one another, were not 

long enough to tie the hands of the Lord of 

the Universe. Then a great awe fell 

upon 

Yasoda, and she began to feel the vision of the 

Universe stealing over her again. But the Child, 

seeing that His mother was tired, hunting here 

and there for ropes, and trying to tie His hands, 

submitted Himself, and became good, and immediately 

one rope was found enough 

to fasten the little wrists. 

with which 

And so the time passed, 

till He was seven or 

eight years of age. Then the cowherds moved 

away from Gokool to the forests of Brindaban. 

And Krishna, being now joined by His elder 

brother Bolarama, was allowed to go daily to the 

pastures with the other lads tending 

herds. 

their father's

Krishna in the Forests 

How happy were the years that Krishna and 

His brother spent in the forests, for the herdboys 

and herd-girls of Gokool and Brindaban ! 

To the herd-girls especially, the Gopis, as they 

were called, He was at once play-fellow and 

pet ; 

and Indian poetry 

is 

full, to this day, of 

the memory of His pastimes with them, 

in those 

beautiful woods and meadows. There, when the 

trees were covered with blossoms, and the south 

wind blew, they would put up swings and play at 

swinging all day long. Or there would be a 

game at hide-and-seek amongst the cows and 

buffaloes feeding quietly and those who were to 

; 

be caught would draw attention to their hidingplaces, 

by imitating the cries of peacocks or the 

quacking of ducks. Sometimes the lads would 

leap streams with the motions of a frog, or play 

the game of leap-frog on dry land. Or they 

would all make a ring about some great tree, 

as He darted in and 

and try to capture Krishna, 

out under their arched arms. Even the grazing 

animals had a special love for the Lord, and 

lowed happily, whenever He caressed them, or 

168

KRISHNA IN THE FORESTS 169 

came near, gathering about Him in a ring, to 

listen, whenever, standing 

with feet crossed 

beneath the beautiful kodumbha-tree, He played 

upon His flute. Some say, indeed, that at such 

moments the lotus -buds lying on the Jumna 

waters opened, and the river itself bent out of its 

straight course. And it is said that in Brindaban, 

owing to the presence of the Lord Krishna, the 

weather never grew too hot, nor did the grass 

grow thirsty. It was always cool and fragrant ; 

the trees were always in blossom ; 

and a gentle 

breeze played always upon the foreheads of the 

cowherds. 

One game was played there regularly once a 

year. It was a game of triumph over Kansa. 

For the Tyrant of Mathura had not forgotten 

his old eagerness to slay the future Avenger of 

his People, and he continued now and again to 

despatch his malicious emissaries to Brindaban, 

there to work the death of the young Krishna. 

Once he sent Bak-Asur, the great Crane ; 

and 

once it was Metrasur, the Demon-Sheep. 

It was 

the death of the latter of 

these which caused such 

great rejoicing throughout the whole country-side, 

that its anniversary has been kept every year, from 

then till now. 

When the spring was at its loveliest, on the eve 

of the full moon of Phalgun that most beautiful 

month of all the twelve when the fragrance of


mango-blossoms filled the air, and red flowers 

covered the asoka-tree, and the long delicate buds 

of the leaf-almond were about to burst into tender 

green, on this very day, a large ram that had 

seemed to be feeding quietly in the meadow, saw 

Krishna coming, and, lowering 

its head, ran 

forward to butt Him with its horns. So large 

was the animal, and so vicious and determined 

his onset, that the Lord must have been killed on 

the spot, had He succeeded in touching Him. 

But that Divine Intelligence was never baffled. 

Even in the height of a frolic, He could not be 

found off guard. The young Cowherd waited till 

the great sheep had almost reached Him. Then, 

seizing him easily by the neck, He swung him 

round and round, and finally dashed him against 

a tree. Possibly the garments of those standing 

near were stained with the blood of the demon, or 

it may be that the fury of the hunter came upon 

them, and they " blooded " one another. However 

this was, the night is yearly celebrated, 

by burning a rude image of the demon, put 

together with sticks and knots of grass. And 

water coloured with red powder 

is taken to 

represent the blood of Metrasur, and all the 

members of the family receive this, in blessing, 

on their heads ; 

and next day in the streets, 

it is 

thrown by the boys on the garments of passersby. 

Thus is commemorated the rejoicing of the


Gopis over the escape 

Sheep. 

Many 

the life of the youth 

of Krishna from the Demon- 

wonderful <strong>tales</strong> are told of this time in 

Krishna. One of these is 

His Victory over the Snake Kaliya. Another is 

the story of the Lifting of the Mountain. But 

most wonderful of all was the love that the Gopis 

had for Him, as they romped and frolicked and 

tended the herds in the beautiful forests of 

Brindaban. It was a love without any selfishness. 

When Krishna was near, they 

felt themselves 

lifted into a golden atmosphere, where 

all was gaiety and lightness of heart ; nothing 

seemed serious or troublesome ; 

and their 

happiness bubbled over in the form of gentleness 

and play. If one were eating some 

delicious fruit, and suddenly saw the luminous 

form of Krishna, she would unconsciously offer 

it, 

for the next bite, to His lips, instead of to 

her own. 

Yet each was only kinder and more faithful 

all others, by reason of this wonderful play. For 

it is written that the homes of the Gopis never 

suffered, 

their husbands and their children never 

cried on them in vain, they never fled from any 

duty, in order to indulge in the company of 

Krishna. And not those of the Gopis only, but 

the humble homes about Brindaban, were 

also all 

made happy by His presence. In truth, Krishna 

to


the Cowherd, or Hari, as He was called, was 

the Lord Himself, and this love of peasant-folk 

for Him was neither more nor less than the love 

of human souls for the Divine. None who had 

ever sported with Him, or listened 

to His playing 

of the flute beneath the trees, could bear thereafter 

to leave that Presence. The souls of all 

such were bathed in holy peacefulness and joy. 

But their hands were rendered only the more 

helpful, their hearts more tender, their feet more 

eager to run on swift errands of mercy to others, 

for the fact that in mind and spirit they knew 

themselves to be playing always with the Divine, 

in the beautiful form of the Cowherd of Brindaban. 

Leader of all the Gopis was Radha, and to her 

specially was it given to realise this intensity of 

sweetness. Hers was the frank and instant 

recognition, the deep understanding, and the 

constant vision of His glory. And she it was 

who reached the unutterable depths of sorrow, 

when the simple joys of that peasant-world could 

hold Him no longer, and He left Brindaban for 

ever, to return to the life and responsibility of 

kings, freeing His people from the Tyrant of 

Mathura. Wherefore, because of this wondrous 

union between the human soul of Radha and 

the Divine in Krishna, all love has come to be 

summed up in Their love. And when the Infinite


whispers Its secrets to the finite as happens 

sometimes to all of us in loving the moment is 

expressed, in Indian poetry, as the speech of 

Krishna the Cowherd with Radha, leader of the 

Gopis.

The Dilemma of Brahma 

A CURIOUS miracle was performed by the Lord 

Krishna. Having gone to the forest one morning 

with His companions and their herds, He and they 

wandered from one beautiful part to another. The 

sun had not long risen, and the young cowherds 

were full of happiness. Some played with the 

dancing shadows, others with the echoes. Some 

climbed with the monkeys, others stood still like 

storks or herons, deceiving the very birds themselves, 

by the perfection of their gestures. Above 

wherever Krishna announced His intention of 

all, 

going, a hundred voices rose in emulation, shouting, 

" Let me be first ! Let me be first 1 

the cows began to disappear 

" 

Suddenly, 

into the mouth of 

a great open cave, and the boys, as was their 

duty, when they came up to it, 

followed them. 

Krishna was the last to reach the place, but no 

sooner had He done so, than He saw that what 

had seemed like a cavern was nothing of the 

sort, being in reality the mouth of a great serpent- 

had 

demon, by whom His friends and their cattle 

all been swallowed. He further understood that 

the great jaws remained still motionless and open,

THE DILEMMA OF BRAHMA 175 

because the real object of the demon was to 

devour Himself, and thereby avenge the deaths 

of those whom He had already defeated. The lad 

stood a moment, wondering what to do. His 

companions and the herds must be delivered. 

But how ? It was only a moment, and He 

stepped boldly inside the mouth of the monster, 

and stood there, in front of its throat. The great 

teeth made to snap down upon Him, and the 

muscles hastened as though they would contract. 

But this was not so easy. By dint of His 

mysterious power, the Lord of the Universe, calling 

all His concentration to His aid, began to 

expand and expand within the serpent's mouth. 

Taller and taller, larger and larger He grew, and 

with each accretion of size, the demon became 

fainter and fainter, and the hopes of His comrades 

entangled within waxed higher. There He stood 

in the very mouth of the dragon, and fought for 

His friends with invisible weapons. The crowning 

moment came at last. His power reached 

its zenith. The demon was suddenly disrupted 

and without strength, and the cowherds with their 

cows walked back out of the jaws of this living 

death. And then, before all their eyes, the soul 

of that evil being arose, and did obeisance to the 

feet of Krishna, before it passed away, a purified 

spirit, to the far-off regions of blessedness. For 

the touch of the Lord ever brought salvation,


even though to the body He might mete out 

death. 

Some hours had passed away in this struggle 

and the consequent rejoicing of the cowherds. 

Hence, finding a place full of clear sands, near 

running water, where the black bees hovered over 

the lotuses, and beautiful birds flew about amongst 

the branches, and the air was filled with drowsy 

humming, some one suggested that here they 

should take their morning meal. The proposal 

met with acceptance from all, and they sat down 

on the sands to eat. But, since none could 

bear to take his eyes off Krishna, the assembly, 

when it was ranged for eating, looked like a 

single great lotus, with Him as its centre ; 

and 

so seated, using flowers and leaves and pieces 

of fruit and bark as plates, they all, with much 

to feast. 

merriment, began 

All unknown to them, they were being watched 

by the God Brahma, who had seen the miracle 

of the morning, and was minded to play them 

a trick. He wanted to find out whether the 

Boy Krishna, who could do such extraordinary 

things, was in reality human or divine. He 

suspected Him of being an Incarnation of the 

God Vishnu, and intended to put the matter to 

proof. 

When the boys, therefore, sat down to eat, 

the God Brahma quietly drew away 

their herds


of cattle, and shut them up in deep sleep in a 

mountain cave. The lads looked up suddenly, 

and saw to their terror that all the cows had 

disappeared. But Krishna, jumping up, said that 

He would find them and drive them back, 

if 

only 

the rest would not disturb themselves. He had 

no sooner left them, however, to seek for the 

missing cows, than Brahma took all the herdboys 

and herd-girls, and throwing them into 

the same deep sleep, shut them up also, along 

with their cattle, in the same cave. And 

Krishna, returning disappointed, could find no 

one. 

A few moments passed in perplexity, and then 

He who could see all things, determined that this 

must be some dilemma proposed by the Creator, 

and resolved on a course of action. 

That night the same number of cows and 

bullocks and calves were driven into the village 

as had left it for the forest in the morning. 

The herd-girls, also, and herd-boys went home, 

all in their own places. But never had the people 

loved their children and their animals as they 

now began to do. It was wonderful, this love that 

was drawn out by the herds and their keepers. 

Hitherto, people had been tempted to love the 

Lord Krishna, and even His brother Bolarama, 

more than their own children. But now, all their 

hearts were centred in their own homes, and for 

M


love of their own children and their own cows, 

the Lord 

it seemed almost as if 

they would forget 

Himself. In fact, Krishna had made all these 

out of Himself. All alike were His special 

manifestation. And He, the Lord, was now 

present in His own form, in every household 

and cattle-pen. So matters continued for a 

whole year. 

Now a day of the gods is a year of men, and 

Brahma, coming at the end of the day, to see 

what Krishna had done to meet His trick, found, 

to His amazement, that there were now in the 

forest as many herds-folk and animals as before. 

But drawing nearer still, 

it 

appeared to Him as 

if each of these were clothed in the yellow garb, 

and carried the flute, and wore the circlet with 

the peacock's feather, just like Krishna. Behind 

each, moreover, to His piercing sight, shone forth 

the four arms, with the hands holding discus and 

mace and conch and lotus. Then was He satisfied 

that the young Cowherd was indeed the God 

Vishnu Himself, and when He had worshipped 

Him, and Krishna had resumed into Himself all 

these His manifestations, He released from the cave, 

where He had hidden them, the sleeping herdsmen 

and women and their cattle. And they 

awoke, knowing not that even a moment had 

passed. They 

found themselves seated at their 

forest-meal, as they had been when they dis-


appeared. And each remembered only the 

words that had been on his lips, or the food 

that had been in his hands, 

at the moment 

of the vanishing of the cows a whole year 

before.

Conquest 

of the Snake 

Kaliya 

IT happened one morning that Bolarama was 

unwell, and could not go to the forest with the 

cows. Now Yasoda in the night had had a dream 

that Krishna was drowned in the lake Kaliya. 

She begged Him therefore for that day to stay 

at home. But His companions were so loth to 

go without Him, and He pleaded so hard to 

be allowed to accompany them, that at last 

her resolution gave way, and she allowed Him 

to 

go. 

The day was hot, and the cows wandered 

further afield than usual, and must be followed 

by the cowherds. Behind all came Krishna, Who 

had been resting with His friends under a shady 

banyan tree. In this way they arrived at the 

shores of a certain great lake, and being thirsty, 

all alike, save Krishna, Who had not yet reached 

them, bent down and drank its water. Now the 

lake was the Lake Kaliya, made venomous by the 

poison of the hundred-headed snake Kaliya, who 

dwelt in it, 

and when Krishna left the banyan's 

shade and came up to His comrades, they all lay 

apparently dead on its shores. A few minutes 

i so

CONQUEST OF THE SNAKE KALIYA 181 

passed, however, and the tears of Krishna brought 

them all back to life. For His mercy and love 

and He 

could not fail to give life and strength, 

poured them out in abundance over His fainting 

friends. 

Now such was the poison of the Lake Kaliya 

that nothing could remain alive near its banks. 

The very birds, as they flew across it, fell down 

dead. The grass and the plants in its 

neighbourhood 

became withered and burnt up. The forest 

appeared to have retreated from its edge. And 

the only living thing to be seen was a vigorous 

kodumbha tree, on whose branches an eagle the 

Bird of God had once perched. Even the mist 

and spray that might rise from the lake had the 

effect of poison. As Krishna therefore looked on 

the surrounding desolation, and realised the danger 

from which His friends had just escaped, His 

heart grew hot within Him, and the thought 

arose in His mind that He would rid the world of 

the poisonous serpent Kaliya, 

with his hundred 

heads, and deliver men and animals and plants 

from his terror. He climbed, therefore, to the 

top of the kodumbha tree, and making His way 

out to the end of a long branch, He stood there 

a moment, and then, with a great leap, dived into 

the lake. 

His friends the cowherds stood breathless 

on the shore as He splashed about in the 

water, striking it with His fists and creating whirl-

1 82 CRADLE TALES OF HINDUISM 

pools, 

in order to attract the attention of the 

snake. It was not long before He succeeded, 

and Kaliya, greatly enraged at this agitation of 

the waters, raised his terrible cluster of heads to 

see who it was that troubled his peace. No 

sooner did he see Him, than with coil after coil 

of his huge body he wrapped the youthful 

swimmer round, and drew Him down to the 

bottom of the lake, there to sting Him to death 

at leisure. 

Holding Him thus in his embrace, and 

darting his heads here and there at the body of 

Krishna, he gave bite after bite. But a strange 

thing happened. Instead of entering the flesh of 

the Cowherd, whatever poison-tooth touched His 

skin would immediately break ! 

The minutes as they went by seemed to those 

on the shore like hours, and still the combatants 

remained under water, and the Lord had not once 

appeared to His friends. At the same time terrible 

omens began to be seen in Brindaban. The 

rolling of thunder was heard from a clear sky. 

Meteors were seen, though 

it was daylight, to 

shoot across the sky, and people found themselves 

to be trembling without any cause, as 

though with fear. Even in the distant pastures, 

Nanda and the older cowherds noticed these 

things, and, fearing 

Krishna, began 

that some evil had befallen 

to drive the cows homeward to 

the village. Then, taking Yasoda and Bolarama,


and following the lads, by means of the footprints 

of Krishna, they came all together to the 

shores of the Lake Kaliya. 

Still Krishna was under water, and His friends 

and comrades were about to abandon all 

hope. 

Finding things at this pass, Yasoda was eager at 

least to follow Him, and was about to throw 

herself headlong 

into the fatal lake. But Bolarama, 

who had not been in the least discouraged, 

implored her to wait, while he asked Krishna to 

give them some sign. He was sure that his 

Brother would defeat the serpent, and at any rate, 

when they should know that it was hopeless, 

it 

would be time enough to take desperate measures. 

She consented, and he, climbing the kodumbha tree, 

and standing on its out-stretching branch, even as 

Krishna had done, put his horn to his lips and 

sounded a call which would mean to Krishna, 

" For the sake of your mother make some sign 

that you still live ! " 

Krishna, standing easily in 

the coils of the serpent, and allowing him to 

exhaust himself in blind and useless anger, heard 

the call of the horn, and, as a token that He still 

lived, threw His flute out of the lake to the shore. 

Alas, the signal had an effect the very opposite 

of that intended 1 All were quite sure that Krishna 

would never, while He yet lived, part from His 

flute. Despair, therefore, reigned supreme. But 

Bolarama again blew upon 

his horn. "Show us


that you live ! " was his message this time, and 

immediately on the surface of the lake they could 

see the peacock's 

feather on Krishna's crown. 

Again and again they saw it. For He was 

standing now on the serpent's head. Then He 

danced lightly on his neck till all the heads, save 

one, hung broken and powerless, and the great 

snake Kaliya was to be feared no more. 

At this point 

the wives and children of the 

serpent lord intervened and ranged themselves 

before Krishna, begging Him to spare the life of 

His enemy. 

They implored Him and worshipped 

Him, and pleaded so well, that at last He said, 

" Let it then be even so ! Do thou, O Kaliya, 

with thy one head, depart with all these thy kindred 

and thy subjects 

unto the ocean ! Thou art 

banished for ever from this lake, whose sweet waters 

thou shalt defile no longer. Yet, out of My pity, 

do I 

grant thy life ! " 

Then Kaliya, bruised and trembling, answered, 

" Alas, O Lord, as I 

depart unto the ocean, that 

bird of Thine will see me. And what Thou hast 

spared he will " 

assuredly destroy ! 

Then answered Krishna " 

gently, Nay, My 

friend ! When the Eagle sees My footprint on 

thy head he will bid thee go in " 

peace ! 

And so the Lord, having conquered the 

hundred-headed, returned to the shore, and ever 

after were the waters of that lake sweet as nectar.


But when Yasoda and His friends had embraced 

and welcomed Him, the day was already far spent, 

and they saw that if 

they attempted to return to 

the village, they would only be overtaken by the 

darkness on their way. They withdrew with the 

cows, therefore, within the forest, and determined 

to spend the night under the banyan tree near by. 

Suddenly, as they slept, some one smelt fire, and 

with cries of " Krishna " ! and " " 

Bolarama ! 

they 

all woke one another. A terrible forest-fire had 

broken out, and was coming nearer and nearer, 

surrounding them on every side. But Krishna 

stood up in the midst of them smiling, and hushed 

their terror as if 

they had been children. Bidding 

them shut their eyes, and on no account to 

look at Him, He stood there and drew the fire in 

with His hands, drinking 

it 

up in three great 

mouthfuls. And none would have known it, but 

Yasoda, opening her eyes slightly before the time, 

saw through her eyelashes His last draught. So 

once more the cowherds slept in peace, 

and when 

morning dawned returned to their own village 

with the herds.

The Lifting of the Mountain 

Now it came to pass, year after year, at the end 

of the hot weather, 1 

that the cowherds of Brindaban 

would offer a great sacrifice to Indra, God of the 

Sky and King of Deities. And this sacrifice, it 

was believed, availed to make Him send the yearly 

rains, and was efficacious also to make Him 

restrain them, that they 

should not be sufficient 

to wash away the forests and make the Jumna 

overflow her banks. But on a certain year it happened 

that the Lad Krishna noticed the preparations 

that were being made for this sacrifice. And 

His heart was hot within Him, 

to put an end to the worship 

for He was born 

of Indra and the 

weather-deities, and to establish in its place, faith 

in Narayan, God Himself, Lord of the souls, not 

of the fortunes of men. The Youth Krishna therefore 

reasoned with Nanda, His foster-father, and 

with the other cowherds, urging them to realise 

that good harvests or bad came to them out of 

their own destiny, the fruit of causes long past, 

1 

The hot weather in northern India means the months of May 

and June. In July begin the heavy tropical rains, which last until 

the beginning of October. 1 86

THE LIFTING OF THE MOUNTAIN 187 

and could not be given or withholden by Indra 

or any other of the ancient gods. 

" Surely, 

if 

ye 

must worship," He cried, in 

His earnestness, 

" it 

were better to worship this mountain under whose 

shelter we dwell. Let us celebrate a feast in 

honour of the forest and the priesthood and the 

cows. To do this were indeed well, but to 

worship Indra for the sake of harvests is but 

" 

childish nonsense and old wives' <strong>tales</strong> ! Carried 

away by His pleadings, the cowherds placed themselves 

entirely at his will, and that year's merrymaking 

was dedicated to the mountain, to which 

they owed home and food and all that they enjoyed. 

But not without a struggle would the God Indra 

resign His accustomed offerings. None of the 

daring words of Krishna were hidden from Him. 

He was present at every conference. He heard 

the fiery arguments, and He saw the impression 

moreover that was made on the minds of the 

simple country-folk. Indra knew that if He did 

not now defeat the plans of the Lord Krishna, 

then were the hearts of the people lost for ever 

to Him, and all the shining deities of the sky. 

Therefore, to punish the presumption of the cowherds 

who had dared, at the bidding of Krishna, 

to enter on the rainy season without first making 

sacrifices to Him the God Indra sent down such 

rain as had never been seen in Brindaban within

i88 


the memory of man. Down, down, down it 

poured, hour after hour, day after day, without 

one moment of intermission ; 

and the river began 

to overflow, and the trees to be washed away ; 

and it looked as if the people, and their herds, 

and their villages would all be lost, nay, as if the 

very world itself would be drowned in one great 

flood. But to Krishna all the anger of Indra was 

a very 

little thing. When He saw the danger of 

His people, He simply called them together, and, 

telling them to bring with them their cattle and 

their tools, and all their worldly possessions, He 

lifted up the mountain itself, and, holding it up 

with a single finger, He made them all 

take shelter 

beneath it ! And so He stood, protecting them, 

seven days and nights, till 

even the mighty Indra 

was exhausted and repentant, and ready to offer 

than all the 

worship to Him Who was greater ancient gods together. Then all the herdsmen and 

women came forth once more from their refuge, 

and the sun shone brightly upon them, and the 

mountain was restored to its own place, and even 

the spirit of the Jumna was appeased, and her 

flow became gentle and untroubled as before. 

But one by one came the old men and prostrated 

themselves before Krishna, saying, " Child ! In 

sooth we know not Who You are 

but whoever 

and whatever You be, to You be our salutation ! 

" 

To You be our worship 

!

The Return to Mathura 

ONE by one the seasons had gone by, and Krishna 

was now close on twelve years of age. One by 

one He had foiled all the attempts made on His 

life 

by Kansa. He had humbled the pride of 

Indra. He had subdued the snake Kaliya. He 

had swallowed the forest fire. He had wrestled 

with a great black bull and slain him. He had 

defeated every demon sent against Him. And 

Kansa in Mathura began to think that the time 

of his own danger was nigh at hand, and it were 

well that he should take steps to have the Son of 

Devaki destroyed before his eyes. The emissaries 

had doubtless been lax. Or they had been taken 

at a disadvantage in unknown places, 

or there 

had been no means of ordering the warfare by the 

common rules of combat. It was desirable that 

now all this should be reversed. Let Krishna 

fight the King's 

wrestlers in full court. Let the 

lists, familiar to them, be new to Him. Let the 

whole assembly look on and see fair play. It 

would be hard, thought Kansa, if, 

under all these 

conditions, he could not compass the defeat and 

death of the young cowherd. It was therefore


decided that a great sacrifice should be made in 

Mathura, with many days' celebration of games 

and feasting, and that to this the cowherds should 

be bidden, with Nanda, as the King's vassals, and 

Krishna and His brother Bolarama as his kinsmen. 

The darkness had fallen, and all the evening 

tasks were going forward, when the messenger of 

the King arrived at Brindaban, carrying the invitation 

of Kansa to the chieftain Nanda. The cowherds 

were wanderers by habit, and to them it 

was no great undertaking to move from place to 

place, milking their cows and making butter and 

curds daily on the march. Many times already 

had they gone to Mathura to offer the annual 

tribute, and they were familiar with the large green 

reserves outside the city, 

which were known as the 

king's parks, where they and their herds would 

find abundance of room. Long before dawn, 

therefore, they had set to work to prepare the gifts 

which would be sent out in carts for offering to 

the King, and to make themselves and their camp 

ready for the removal. But first they sat for 

many hours about the newly arrived guest, talking, 

late into the night, 

of the childhood and 

youth of Krishna and Bolarama, and of the 

dreams and thoughts that the face of the Lord 

was potent to stir in the hearts of His devotees. 

For the messenger of Kansa was an uncle of the 

two lads, and he knew and worshipped the divine

THE RETURN TO MATHURA 191 

character of his nephew. And many felt, 

as the 

embers of the evening cooking-fires died down, 

and even the logs that had been set alight afterwards 

turned to ashes, and the blackness of the 

forest became filled with the whispers of night 

many felt in their hearts that the happiness of 

those early years was over for them. The great 

world without had need of the Lord, and the 

hillsides of Brindaban would know Him no more. 

Krishna and Bolarama were driven to the city 

in state in the chariot of the royal messenger. 

But on reaching the gates of Mathura they insisted 

on alighting. They would like, they said, to 

enjoy the sights of the city in freedom for the 

rest of the day, and to spend the night with their 

friends from the forests. They would not fail on 

the morrow to present themselves at the tournament. 

Already they were attired in accordance 

with their true rank, as young 

nobles about to be 

received for the first time at court. And as they 

went about the streets of Mathura, they were 

everywhere treated with the respect due to 

them. Thus they made their way to the place 

which had been prepared for the next day's 

spectacle. 

All round were ranged the seats and galleries 

for different sections of the spectators. One 

division had been prepared for the cowherds, 

another for the royal clan of the Vrishnis, a


third for the citizens and townsfolk of Mathura, 

and so on. High 

at one end of the lists towered 

the royal seat of Kansa, draped and garlanded 

and decked with banners and auspicious ornaments. 

Opposite were the arrangements being 

made for the public sacrifice. And near to the 

throne, in a kind of shrine, well guarded, was 

displayed a sacred object, no other than a great 

bow, said to be divine, which was regarded as the 

amulet and talisman of the house of Kansa. 

Whenever and wherever the King appeared in 

state, this bow was exhibited beside him, as a 

and reminder to all the 

perpetual challenge 

world, 

that if 

any would dispossess him of his crown, 

they must first bend and break this weapon of 

the gods. Now the bow was of such strength 

that no living man could bend it. And none 

had ever been known even to lift it alone. 

None of the guards noticed anything unusual 

about the two youths who had entered and were 

strolling 

about the lists. Crowds 

were constantly 

coming and going, inspecting the arrangements for 

the next day's festivities, and not yet had the Lord 

signalised Himself by putting 

power. 

Suddenly, however, before any 

forth His divine 

one could 

prevent Him, Krishna leapt featly to the royal da'is, 

and went forward to seize the great bow. The 

guards threw themselves on Him, to snatch it 

back, but He lifted it lightly above them, with His

left 


hand only, and withdrawing backwards, stood 

a moment to string it, and, then closer and closer 

He smilingly drew the two great ends, 

till 

snap ! 

went the mighty weapon, even, says the chronicler, 

as a stick of sugar-cane is broken in two by a 

maddened elephant. 

Rigid with terror, every one had drawn back 

to see the bowstring drawn, but at the sound of its 

breaking the whole scene changed. Even Kansa, 

it is said, in his distant apartments, heard the dread 

echo, and, guessing its 

cause, hastened to despatch 

men to seize Him Who had thus threatened his 

with defeat. But Krishna, armed only with 

glory 

the two fragments of the weapon, drove back all 

Some He merely repulsed, others 

His adversaries. 

He slew. And thus, leaving the shattered talisman 

behind Him, He returned to the lists 

by the way 

He had left 

them, and, rejoining Bolarama, went 

quietly out of the hall. 

But Kansa lay wakeful through all 

the hours of 

that long night, or when he slept was pursued 

by evil dreams. Every now and then he would 

see as it were himself, now without a head, and 

again riddled with holes. It seemed to him, too, 

as if he walked and left no footprint. He had 

shivered when he heard the sound of the breaking 

of the bow ; 

but afterwards he had spoken of it 

lightly amongst his friends, as an unfortunate joke 

played by a couple of strangers. In his secret 

N

i 94 


soul, however, he knew it for the sound of coming 

doom. He knew that the prophecies of his ancestors 

were true, and that with the appearance of 

one who could bend it, the power would depart 

from him and from his line. 

As morning dawned, 

it 

appeared to Kansa as if 

he could hardly wait for the beginning of the 

tournament that was to decide all. Hastily, he 

gave orders for the completion of the preparations. 

The last decorations were added; drums and tabors 

sounded; the people began to fill their galleries; 

the royal guests took their places; then Kansa, 

surrounded by his counsellors, ascended the royal 

dai's, and took his seat in the very midst of the 

circle of kings. His appearance was full of 

splendour, but within, his heart was shaken with 

anxiety. Then the trumpet sounded the challenge, 

and the King's wrestlers entered the arena in order, 

and stood in their places, waiting to see what 

combatants would offer themselves. Finally, the 

cowherds entered in procession, headed by Nanda 

and other chieftains, and, offering the tribute they 

had brought, at the royal feet, paid public homage, 

and passed on to the seats arranged for them. And 

now, at last, all waited together for the appearance 

of those who might desire to try their skill with the 

King's fighters. But none knew that at the door 

by which any such must come in, Kansa had 

secretly stationed an elephant, who had been


goaded into fury till 

he would rush on those who 

might seek to enter, and trample them to death. 

With dawn that morning Krishna and His 

brother Bolarama had risen, bathed, and offered 

worship, and now, hearing the call of the drums 

and trumpets, they came to the hall of sacrifice to 

be present at the tournament. As they entered 

the portals, however, they saw an immense elephant 

rushing furiously down upon them, goaded by his 

keeper. Quick as lightning Krishna girded His 

garments tightly about Him, and stood waiting for 

the onset. The elephant caught Him with its trunk ; 

but He struck it in the foot and released Himself. 

For a moment the angry beast lost sight of Him, 

then it 

caught Him again, and the same manoeuvre 

was repeated. At this moment, as if the thing were 

a mere joke, Krishna caught the 

mighty creature 

by the tail, and dragged 

it backwards, as some great 

bird might drag a snake. Again he darted backwards 

and forwards, to right and left, following the 

turns of the infuriated elephant, even as the cowherds 

of Brindaban would follow the movements 

of a turning and wheeling 

calf. Now He faced it 

and struck it with His hands, and, again running 

hither and thither, He threw it to the earth with a 

kick from His foot. The elephant recovered its 

footing, however, and, again goaded by its keeper, 

made straight for Krishna. He, seeing now for 

the first 

time how overflowing must be the cup of


Kansa's iniquity, to have given such orders for His 

undoing, muttered, between closed teeth, 

" Tyrant 

! 

thine end must indeed be near at hand!" and gave 

Himself finally to the killing of the beast and its 

keeper. 

The great trunk would have wound itself about 

Him, but He vaulted lightly by 

its means to the 

creature's head, and then, placing one foot there, 

and one on the lower jaw, He forced the mouth 

open, and, bending down, drew forth its immense 

tusks, and with these slew both elephant and man. 

A few minutes later, girded as He had been for 

the struggle, and bearing the tusks of the creature 

in His hands, Krishna entered the arena, followed 

by Bolarama, His brother. 

How different were the feelings of those who 

The soldiers 

looked upon Him in that moment ! 

saw in Him, it is said, a mighty general. Women 

saw a beautiful youth. The people saw simply 

saw the 

a great man. Nanda and his subjects 

beloved Cowherd of Brindaban. Devaki and 

Vasudeva, from their place near the King's person, 

saw their Babe of one stormy night twelve years 

before. Saints saw the Lord Himself appear 

on earth in human form. And Kansa, on his 

high seat trembled, 

for in the beautiful Lad before 

him, without armour, weapons, or followers, he, 

seated on his throne and surrounded by his 

armies, saw only his own destined Destroyer.

THE RETURN TO MATHIJRA 197 

In that moment, all that Krishna had already 

done rose up before the minds of those who 

looked upon Him. All the fame of the demons 

He had destroyed, from Putana the Vampire- 

Nurse to Arishta the great black bull, came 

before them. The stories of how Indra and 

Brahma had done Him homage were remembered. 

And his great labours for the protection 

of men, the lifting of the mountain, the defeating 

of the serpent, and a dozen others were whispered 

from mouth to mouth. Thus, summing 

up in that one instant the past and the present, 

Krishna stood on the threshold of the lists, awaiting 

the challenge. 

Chanura, chief of the King's wrestlers, came 

forward and sounded it. It was, he announced, 

the royal command that the two brothers who 

stood before them should offer an exhibition of 

the famous wrestling of Brindaban cowherds, and, 

to gratify their sovereign in this matter, he himself 

was willing to give them battle. 

Now Krishna well understood the trap that was 

laid for Himself and His brother, in the smooth 

and honeyed words of the challenge thus delivered. 

They were to make a spectacular display 

only, for the amusement of the onlookers, of the 

strange ways of wrestling in vogue amongst the 

cowherds. But their adversaries would have secret 

orders from Kansa, to put forth full strength at


some unexpected moment, and kill 

if 

by accident. Instead of giving 

them both, as 

the counterchallenge 

direct, therefore, He answered, in the 

same complimentary style that the wrestler had 

used, that if the King really 

wished to see the 

wrestling of the cowherds, He would prove the 

fact by giving Himself and His brother, 

as their 

antagonists, boys of their own age. 

At this Chanura lost all patience. "You say 

this ? " he cried 

" You, whose hands but now 

were wet with the blood of an infuriated elephant, 

whose strength was as that of a thousand ! Your 

strength 

is not that of mere lads. You are amongst 

" 

the most powerful beings in the world 1 

All present 

understood this as a call to mortal 

combat, and a thrill of horror went round the 

assembly as they saw the two young men, little 

used as they must be to the methods of cities, 

confronted by the skill, strength, and experience 

of a whole bevy of famous wrestlers of the court. 

Devaki and Vasudeva, from their places above, 

made no secret of the terror which the fight 

inspired in them. Only in the gallery of the 

cowherds were there seen bright smiles and untroubled 

countenances. For there alone were 

some who could guess the powers of the Divine 

Wrestlers to foil their combatants. 

Chanura and Musthika then addressed themselves 

to the fight with Krishna and Bolarama.


Each couple fought by all known modes of combat. 

Each found in his foe a worthy antagonist. At 

last Chanura drew back, and then, with arms out 

and fists clenched, came down with all his strength 

on Krishna, even as a hawk might swoop down on 

its prey. But Krishna waited calmly for his blow, 

and seemed to feel it no more than an elephant 

when struck by a garland of flowers. Then, at 

last, He seized Chanura by the arms, and threw 

him to the ground dead. And the fall of the 

great wrestler was as the loss of the thunderbolt 

from the hand of Indra Himself. As for Musthika, 

Bolarama slew him carelessly, with a blow of his 

left hand. Another pair of gladiators came forward 

and offered battle, and again a third, but 

only to be slain, each in his turn, by his chosen 

foe. As the third combat ended, however, all the 

rest of the wrestlers fled, and the cowherds could 

no longer be restrained. They rose from their 

places in a body, and, crowding round Krishna 

and Bolarama, embraced them, amidst mingling 

of laughter and shouts of triumph, and then 

all together, with tinkling of their ornaments, 

began, to the great amusement of the assembly, to 

dance one of the forest dances ! 

But the eyes of Kansa had been growing larger 

and larger with terror, as one by one he had seen 

his wrestlers slain. 

At the end of the third combat 

he had marked the sudden flight of the whole


remaining staff of gladiators. 

And now the fight, 

that to him was so serious, was degenerating into 

a harmless and unseemly revel, with the sympathy 

of all those around him, whose hearts ought, as 

he felt, to have been with him ! 

The King rose to his feet, and, at first 

choking 

with rage, but afterwards in clear, loud tones, 

silenced the trumpets and called to his guards 

" Drive out these youths, and arrest and bind the 

chieftain Nanda, with all his followers ! Let 

Vasudeva here be slain ! 

Slay Ugrasena my father 

and his attendants, and all with them who are 

the friends of Krishna ! 

Slay ! Slay ! " 

Before the King's orders had been comprehended 

by any other, almost before he had resumed his 

seat, Krishna had leapt to the royal dais truly, 

it had been foolhardy, by thus attacking 

all who 

were dear to Him, so to provoke the Protector 

of the Universe ! 

Seeing Krishna so close, and 

knowing that the moment long dreaded was come 

upon him, Kansa rose to his feet and drew his 

sword. But the Cowherd grasped him by the 

hair of his head, and at the touch his crown fell 

off. Then down from the da'i's 

jumped the youth, 

bearing the King with Him, powerless in His grasp. 

He threw him to the ground in the arena, and 

a moment later dragged him all round it, even, 

says the historian, " as a lion might drag a dead 

elephant," that all his subjects might see that their


King was slain. Meanwhile, the eight younger 

brothers of Kansa rose in his defence, and would, 

if 

they could, have slain Krishna with their own 

hands. But each, as he threw himself forward, 

was met by Bolarama with a blow of his club 

that laid him dead. 

Then came a scene of weeping. Even those 

who had hated Kansa were struck with consternation 

and pity, and all the royal women 

came, each to lament at the side of her dead 

husband. But Krishna and Bolarama went 

forward quietly to find their parents, Devaki 

and Vasudeva, and when they had struck off their 

fetters still worn at Kansa's orders, though they 

sat amongst the royal guests they touched their 

feet with their heads, as dutiful children. But 

Devaki and Vasudeva, 

it is said, recognising these 

sons of theirs as the Lord Himself, stood before 

them with folded hands, until there fell 

upon their 

minds once more the veil of Maya, and they could 

forget their greatness, to offer them the love and 

tenderness of long-lost parents.

Krishna Partha Sarathi, 

Charioteer of Arjuna 

THE Lord Krishna never afterwards returned 

from Mathura to Brindaban. His life became 

that of a prince and the adviser of princes, 

though He never occupied the throne Himself. 

Henceforth He lived in the palaces and courts 

and council-chambers of monarchs, and sorrow 

dwelt eternally in the heart of Radha. 

Once more, indeed, or so it is said, was He 

seen by His peasant friends. For they, unable 

longer to endure His loss, made pilgrimage to a 

great sacrifice announced by Him. It was that 

time of year when crops are harvested, and earth 

lies fallow for awhile, and men may rest. Then 

did these simple folk make bold to enter the royal 

demesne and find their Friend. And He, when 

He heard that they had come and were asking 

for Him, was glad at heart. With all state and 

dignity were they brought into the hall of 

audience, and Krishna, according to the wont 

of kings, dressed in the robes and jewels of a 

prince, came there to receive them.

KRISHNA PARTHA SARATHI 203 

But, strange to say, the country yokels would 

not look at Him ! With eyes cast on the ground, 

or heads averted, stood these herdsmen and 

women of Brindaban, uttering not one word, 

casting not one glance, 

in the direction of the 

Prince Who stood before them ! Then Krishna 

understood the desire of their hearts, and going 

out of their presence for a moment, He put off 

the robes and jewels of state, and, smiling, came 

back to them, clad in the simple garments of the 

cowherds. On His head now was the tiny circlet, 

with the peacock's feather in the front. In His 

right hand He carried the flute. And His feet 

were bare. And when they saw Him in this, the 

beloved form of earlier days, 

the hearts of those 

country-folk were glad. Calling Him again to 

play upon His flute to them, they romped and 

played and sang all day with Him amongst the 

royal gardens, even as of old in the meadows and 

woods of Brindaban. How they rejoiced in calling 

to mind the " " 

happy past Ah ! 1 they would 

sing, " now we cannot see You, for You are on 

the elephant. But say, do You remember the 

grazing of the cows ? Now, how can we talk 

with You, You who wear the diadem ? But tell 

us, what have You to say about your stealing of 

the butter?" And so in a kind of hide-and-goseek 

of happy memories, the hours were passed, 

and Krishna was once more a peasant amongst


peasants. For He, the Lord, is ever the same 

unto His devotees, and appears unto each one 

of them in that very 

heart cries out. 

form for which His inmost 

Those were stirring days in India, and the 

position of Krishna in the powerful Vrishni 

State, placed him in the front of affairs. Kings 

sought His approval and the alliance of His 

people. He built the splendid city of Dwarka 

on the sea-coast. His presence was desired at 

every tournament and assembly. Under his guidance 

the Vrishnis and their government became 

one of the most important factors in the life of 

the period. They grew indeed to such strength 

that Krishna Himself is said to have seen the 

grave danger 

to the national life in the existence 

of so strong a military class as their nobles formed, 

and to have sought in His own mind for means 

of bringing this danger to an end. It was never 

His way, however, to interfere in affairs, in His 

own proper person, and in the assertion of 

His own will. Rather did He look on at the 

world as if it were all a play which he was watching. 

Sometimes, at most, He would remove an 

obstacle, so that the will of the players might have 

unimpeded scope. 

In this way He allowed events 

to work themselves out, striving ever to aid the 

course of destiny, though 

the self-destruction of all things. 

this leads in the end to


These were the days in which the Kurus, and 

their cousins the Pandavas, strove for the mastery 

in India. The bitter-minded Duryodhana, under 

his blind old father, Dritarashtra, strove to make 

himself suzerain of all India in the capital city of 

Hastinapura. 

Unfortunately, however, this meant 

usurpation of the sovereign rights of his knightly 

cousins, the five Pandavas, who had been brought 

up with him and his brothers, as members of the 

family. Because he wished to be sole monarch, 

and also because the heroic accomplishments of 

these knights made him jealous, Duryodhana 

the lives 

stooped to engage in many plots against 

and possessions of the Pandavas. At one time 

they were compelled to hide, with their mother, 

in the house of a potter, and it was there that 

Krishna met the five brothers, and became their 

friend. The event happened thus. 

There was a princess named Draupadi in one 

of the northern kingdoms, who was famous for 

her beauty and the greatness 

of her character. 

Now when the swayamvara, or bridal choice, of 

Draupadi was proclaimed, and all the illustrious 

knights in India crowded to the city of her father 

to compete for her hand, Krishna, who was a 

near relative, was amongst the kings and princes 

assembled as guests of the family, to look on at 

the marriage ceremonies. 

Everything was to depend, on this occasion, on


the shooting of 

certain great bow. 

eligible 

for the hand of the 

an arrow at a given target from a 

Only those who were by birth 

princess were allowed 

to compete, and the victor was to be proclaimed 

the chosen husband of Draupadi. Amongst the 

candidates were many of India's greatest names. 

Duryodhana himself was there, eager to win the 

bride of that day. And the penetrating eye of 

Krishna, from His place beside Draupadi's father, 

detected in the lists five brothers, dressed as 

Brahmins, whose bearing was more knightly, and 

their build more heroic, than those of any others. 

"What should you say," He whispered to the 

bride's " father, if 

yon should prove to be the farfamed 

Pandavas, and their Brahmin dress only a 

disguise?" In good sooth, it was even so, and 

one of these brothers it was Arjuna, the third of 

them who shot his arrow into the centre of the 

target, and succeeded in winning the royal 

bride. 

But when the five brothers had taken her to the 

potter's house, Krishna and His brother Bolarama 

followed them, secretly, in the evening, and ascertained 

that they were, as He had thought, the 

Pandava heroes. Then He gave them His blessing, 

saying, " May your prosperity increase, even 

as fire hidden in a cave spreads outwards." 

And from this time the fortunes of the Pandavas 

began once more to grow. 

In sooth, it was not strange that Krishna should,

KRISHNA PABTHA SABATHI 207 

at the first glance, have recognised these heroes. 

For Arjuna, the third brother, was that soul who 

had been born for the express purpose of recognising 

His divinity, and by this fact sharing 

His glory. One of Arjuna's names was Partha, 

and Krishna is known, in the south of India, as 

Partha Sarathi, the Charioteer of Arjuna. 

Many times during the ensuing years did these 

two friends visit one another, now in the forest 

and again in the palace, and hold deep converse 

together on matters concerning the soul and God. 

Deep was the trust of Arjuna in Krishna's insight 

into those affairs of men and nations through 

which the higher laws find visible expression. 

And he, with all his brothers, and Draupadi, and 

their whole household, worshipped and loved 

the Lord 

of men. 

Krishna, holding Him to be the Saviour 

It is told, indeed, of this period 

in their lives 

that a certain wicked man was the enemy of 

the Pandavas, and, in order to obtain power to 

conquer them, he went and lived for some time 

on the banks of the Ganges, there offering prayers 

and great penances to Siva, whose other name is 

Mahadeva, the Great God. 

At last the austerities 

practised by this man became so great and 

manifold that they could not fail of their accomplishment, 

and Siva appeared in a vision to His 

" 

worshipper. 

" Speak 

! commanded He. " Tell


me what is the boon that thou demandest 

" 

of Me ! 

" Even that in battle I 

may 

defeat the five 

" 

Pandavas, standing each in his chariot of war ! 

answered the man. 

But Siva smiled and shook His head. " The 

thing that thou askest, O mortal, is 

impossible. 

Listen, and I will tell unto thee," said He, " who 

is 

Arjuna." 

And then the Great God revealed to His worshipper 

the true nature of the hero Arjuna. He 

was, He said, the twin soul, Nara, of Krishna, the 

incarnation of Narayan Himself. And as to 

Krishna, said Mahadeva, " It is even for the destruction 

of the wicked and for the preservation 

of religion that He hath taken His birth among 

men in this warrior race. It is no other than 

Vishnu the Preserver, Who goeth amongst men 

by the name of Krishna. Hear, O thou mortal, 

the nature of Him Whom all the worlds worship, 

Him whom the learned describe as without beginning 

and without end, unborn and divine ! 

They call Him i Krishna the Unconquerable, 

armed with conch-shell, discus, and mace, adorned 

with the emblem of a curl of hair, divine, clad in 

silken robes of yellow hue, and chief of all those 

who are versed in the art of war.' Arjuna the 

Pandava is protected by this Krishna. That 

glorious being, of the lotus eyes 

and of infinite


power, that slayer of hostile heroes, riding in the 

same chariot with Partha, protecteth him. Arjuna, 

therefore, is invincible. Even the gods could not 

resist his power." In such words as these did 

Siva Himself preach the glory of Krishna, Who 

was the incarnation of Vishnu the Preserver, 

foretelling the day when He would act on the 

battlefield 

as the charioteer of Arjuna 

and accord 

to him the divine protection. 

At last there came a crisis in the affairs of the 

country, and between the rival branches of the 

royal house, and Krishna entered upon that work 

of restoring the true sovereign and establishing in 

the land the rule of righteousness, for which He 

had taken His birth amongst men. He chose the 

moment of a royal wedding, when the kings of 

many kingdoms were gathered together, with the 

Pandavas amongst them, to lay the question of 

the future before all. The Pandavas had a second 

time been exiled from their home and kingdom 

for some thirteen years, in discharge of a gambling 

debt. But now the thirteen years were ended, 

and it was time that the restoration of their realm 

should be made by Duryodhana, in fulfilment of 

his own promises, publicly given. 

So quietly did Krishna state the case of the 

Pandavas and so much allowance did He make 

for the errors of Duryodhana, that one of His 

hearers took up the tale, and restated it on behalf 

o

of the Pandavas, at the same time offering his 

own alliance, and calling upon his friends to give 

theirs also, for the re-establishment of the five 

brothers. Fired by this generous enthusiasm, it 

was agreed that Duryodhana should be called 

upon to make restitution, but that, if he refused, 

the assembled kings should hold themselves in 

readiness to form an army, for the purpose of 

forcing him to do so. 

The organisation of the Pandava army for this 

war fell almost entirely into the hands of Krishna. 

Yet so modest was His work and so restrained His 

methods, that it seemed almost as if plans and 

combinations made themselves. At the very beginning 

of the preparations, Duryodhana and 

Arjuna both went to Him to ask for His alliance, 

for Duryodhana also knew His divine character. 

On reaching the palace, they were told that He was 

asleep. They went forward, however, and entered 

His sleeping-chamber, to await His awakening. 

and seated himself near 

Duryodhana arrived first, 

the head of the bed on a fine seat. 

Arjuna stood 

waiting at the foot, 

in an attitude of reverence. 

When Krishna opened His eyes, 

His first 

glance 

fell on Arjuna. Duryodhana then spoke, expressing 

his desire for the help 

the coming campaign, and adding that, 

of Krishna in 

as he 

had entered His presence first, it would be fair 

to promise 

it to himself. Krishna smiled and


answered that in this matter He thought the claims 

were equal, since He had seen Arjuna 

first. He 

added, moreover, that, in matters of choice, it 

was customary to let the younger choose first. 

He desired to refuse no prayer that should be 

made to Him, but in this case He had two alternatives 

to propose. He could give to one of the 

combatants, He said, an army consisting of some 

tens of thousands of soldiers, ready armed and 

equipped. To the other He could promise only 

His own presence, unarmed, and resolved not to 

fight. Then He waited to let each of the two 

knights decide his own destiny ; 

for well did He 

know that one who had been so blinded by wrath 

and desire as to strive to keep the possessions of 

another, could not at the same time be so discriminating 

as to choose the Divine Person for 

his sole strength and stay. 

Even as He had foreseen, 

Arjuna, in the faltering voice of devotion, 

begged for His presence beside him, as his unarmed 

charioteer, while Duryodhana was fully 

satisfied that his prayer had been answered when 

he received the promise of the services of an army 

of fighting men. 

When the hosts of the Pandavas had been duly 

organised, when their friends and troops were all 

enrolled, and their plans made for battle, then 

Krishna went to the court of the Kurus to try 

and obtain from them overtures of peace. He


failed, however, and thenceforth there was nothing 

before the country but the dark cloud of war. 

On the great plain of Kurukshetra stood the 

two armies drawn up in order, and facing each 

other. The Pandavas were ranged under Yudisthira, 

their monarch, and eldest of the five 

brothers, over whose head waved the 

umbrella of 

pure white and ivory. Next in rank came the 

gigantic Bhima, whose strength was such that 

when still a lad he could hold any ten of the 

Kurus under water at the same time. Third stood 

Arjuna, the mighty archer, in his chariot of war, 

with the Divine Krishna as his charioteer ; 

and 

this chariot was regarded as the centre of the 

force, Krishna and Arjuna being 

its leaders. 

Fourth and fifth were the royal twins, Nakula and 

Sahadeva. Each of these princes was surrounded 

by his own section of the army. His chariot was 

drawn by two steeds, with flowing mane and tail, 

and fiery eyes. Over each warrior waved his 

pennon, carrying his own cognisance Arjuna's 

a monkey, another an elephant rope, a third a 

lion's tail, and so on. Each had with him his 

favourite weapons, and carried in his hand the 

shank, or conch-shell, 

with which to sound the 

trumpet of battle. 

On the opposite side, in the centre of the army, 

Duryodhana appeared, riding on an elephant, 

beneath the umbrella of state. At the head of


his forces, under a banner bearing the device of 

a palm-tree, stood Bhishma, their generalissimo, 

clad in white armour, driven by white horses, and 

looking, says the ancient chronicler, " like 

a white 

mountain." Behind them was Drona with red 

horses, and the heroic Kama, waiting to succeed 

to the command on the death of Bhishma. 

For this event, Krishna and Arjuna had been 

born. Battle is terrible, and more terrible than 

any other is civil warfare. The occasion is great. 

Thousands of men, of different classes and 

countries, with their peculiar customs, dress, and 

armour, are gathered together, all with their attention 

concentrated on a single object. Music and 

trumpets and the noises of anger and struggle 

combine to exalt the spirits of all 

engaged in 

combat. The intoxication of victory comes upon 

men, and they die, in that mood where life and 

death appear as one. But on the battlefield of 

Kurukshetra the leaders on either side were the 

nearest and dearest kindred of 

those on the other. 

Bhishma, the Kuru general, was the grandfather 

of the Pandavas. Drona, the guardian of the 

forces, was their beloved teacher. On all hands 

could be seen one and another who in happier 

days had been friend, comrade, and playfellow. 

Yet these were the men who must be killed by 

them. Unless they killed them, there could be 

no end to the contest. It was well known, for

2i 4 


instance, that Bhishma must die by the hand of 

Arjuna himself, and many similar dooms hung 

over the heads of different houses. Yet what 

would be even the empire of Hastinapura, without 

Bhishma, without Drona, without the hundred 

sons of Dritarashtra, whose friendship and energy 

had hitherto made its life and spirit ? 

Arjuna had ordered Krishna to drive him into 

the space between the two armies, that he might 

survey the field, and there, as he looked for the 

and brilliant 

last time upon all that was splendid 

unflawed in the hosts of the enemy, these 

and still 

thoughts of despair came upon him with a rush ; 

his great bow Gandiva dropped from his hand ; 

and 

he sank down spiritless on the floor of his chariot. 

Then came an instant which stands alone in 

history. It lasted only a few minutes. Two 

armies faced each other, in the second between 

the sounding of the trumpets and the shooting 

of the first arrows; but in that one moment of 

expectancy the Lord Krishna revealed Himself to 

the soul of His worshipper, in such a way that he 

saw his duty clearly all hesitation 

; dropped away 

from him, and springing to his feet fearlessly he 

sounded the war-cry of the Pandavas, and flung 

himself upon 

God is 

the fortunes of battle. For to see 

the only thing that can make a man strong 

to face the world and do his duty. 

Even as of old, when the Babe Krishna had


opened His little mouth to cry, and His grieved 

foster-mother, bending over Him, had seen the 

great vision of the Universe within His lips, so 

now again, on the field of battle, He showed to 

Arjuna 

His Universal Form. 

First in a kind of swift mystic 

chant came the 

words, " I am the soul, O Arjuna, seated in the 

heart of every being. 

I am the beginning, the 

middle, and the end of all things. Vishnu 

amongst the gods am I, amongst lights I am the 

Sun. I am the mind amongst the senses, the 

moon amongst the stars. Amongst the waters, I 

l 

am Ocean himself. Amongst trees the Aswattha 

tree am I ; amongst weapons the thunderbolt ; 

and Time amongst events. Of rivers I am the 

Ganges. Of created things 

I am the beginning, 

middle, and end. Time Eternal am I, and the 

Ordainer with face turned on every side ! Death 

that seizeth all, and the source of all that is 

to be. I am the splendour of those that are 

I 

splendid. am Victory, 

I am Exertion, I am 

the goodness of the I 

good. am the Rod of those 

that chastise, and the Policy of them who seek 

victory. 

I am Silence amongst things 

that are 

secret, and the Knowledge of those possessed of 

knowledge. That which is the seed of all things, 

I am that ! 

Supporting this entire Universe with 

a portion only of My strength, I stand " 

! 

1 

An old name for the Bo-tree, Ficus religiosa.


The wonderful voice died away, and all the 

senses of Arjuna, smitten as it were for a moment, 

lay stilled and trembling, realising that, living or 

dead, all 

beings were equally one in God, and 

realising 

too that even what seemed his own acts 

were not his own, but the Lord's, done through 

him. Then he suddenly rose to the height of a 

great rapture. Before him appeared as heretofore 

the countless hosts of the Kurus and Pandavas, 

but he saw all now as a part of Krishna Himself. 

Each arm, each hand, each weapon, was as an 

arm, a hand, a weapon of the Divine Charioteer. 

Multitudinous were the faces and forms that 

appeared now as His. Fierce and terrible, like 

the fire that ends the worlds, was the shining 

energy of His glory. And like moths rushing 

upon a flame for their own destruction, all 

living things appeared to be rushing toward 

be devoured. 

Him to 

But as the mortal gazed upon the great 

vision, the terror of the sight overwhelmed him. 

He could bear no more. And he shrank back, 

crying, " O Thou that art Lord of all the gods, 

Thou that art the refuge of the Universe, be 

gracious unto me ! Have mercy 

! Show me once 

" 

more, I pray, Thy common form ! At these 

words, like a dream, the mighty splendour passed, 

and Arjuna, strong and alert, with mind braced, 

and muscles and nerves made firm as steel, found


himself once more with his Charioteer, about to 

engage in the awful battle of Kurukshetra. But 

what he had understood in those few seconds, it 

took all his after-life to express. Nay, when it 

came to be written down, it took many words. 

And what was taught in a single flash of insight 

and knowledge has stood since, through 

all the 

ages, as one of the world's Scriptures, under 

the name of " Bhagavad Gita, the Song of the 

Blessed 

One."

The Lament of Gandhari 

THE sun itself was pale that rose over the battlefield 

of Kurukshetra, when the combat was 

ended. The eighteenth day had seen the slaying 

of Duryodhana, and the last night of all had 

witnessed a massacre in the sleeping camp of the 

Pandavas, wherein children, grandchildren, friends, 

and confederates of the victors had all alike been 

put 

to the sword. To add to the horror of 

this carnage, it 'was known that many of the 

destined victims, wakened from sleep by cries 

and sounds of struggle coming out of the darkness, 

and believing that an army had taken them 

by surprise, had struggled to their feet and slain 

each other. Morning dawned on scenes of desolation 

and despair. True, the Pandava heroes 

and Krishna stood uninjured and victorious, but 

about them lay the death of all their hopes. 

Theirs was henceforth the empire, but without 

heir to whom it could be left. The throne 

any 

was secured to them, but their homes were empty. 

Around them on every hand lay the flower of 

the Indian knighthood, silent for ever. Those 

who had marched to battle with colours flying, 

218

THE LAMENT OF GANDHABI 219 

those whose chariots had been foremost, their 

steeds most spirited, and their trumpets loudest, 

those whose seats had been veritably on the back 

of 

the elephant, lay now on the cold earth, at the 

mercy of kites and jackals, of vultures and wolves. 

Even amongst the mighty hosts of Duryodhana, 

their foe, three officers alone were left alive. 

In the distance was seen the woe -stricken 

procession of the royal women of the Kurus, 

coming to mourn their dead. And the Pandavas 

trembled as they gazed at them, for those whose 

reserve had been hitherto so impenetrable that 

the gods themselves might scarcely look on them, 

walked now, absorbed in their great grief, 

in utter 

indifference of the public eye. The hundred sons 

of Dritarashtra all lay dead upon that field. 

Somewhat withdrawn from the rest, 

and made 

venerable, not only by their rank, but also by 

their manifold bereavements, their great age, 

and their blindness, Gandhari the Queen and 

Dritarashtra the King were seated in their car 

of state. They were the heads of the defeated 

house, and heads even, by blood kindred, of the 

family of the victors. For them, by reason of the 

respect due to them, the meeting with the Pandavas 

must necessarily seem more like the submission of 

Yudisthira than his triumph. To them, therefore, 

came the young King Dharmma-Raja, King of 

Righteousness, as his people 

called him hence-


forth with his four brothers, and Draupadi, and 

Krishna, and, touching their feet, stood before 

them in deep silence. 

Right queenly was the aged Gandhari in her 

sorrow. Dritarashtra her husband had been born 

blind ; 

but she, out of wifely devotion, of her own 

accord had darkened her eyes with a bandage, and 

worn it faithfully all the years of their union. And 

by this had come to her deep spiritual insight. 

Her voice was as the voice of fate. That which 

she had said would happen, could not fail to come 

to pass. Day after day of the battle, when 

Duryodhana had come to her in the morning, 

asking for her blessing that he might return triumphant 

from that day's fighting, she had said only, 

" Victory, my son, will follow the Right ! " 

From 

the beginning she had known that Kurukshetra 

would see the end of all her house. Even now, 

such was the sternness of her self-control, her heart 

was weeping rather for her husband, in his sorrow 

and desolation, than for her own loss of "a century 

of sons." And this was the more true, since she 

knew well that had it not been for Dritarashtra's 

own weakness and desire, the disaster of this day 

need never have been theirs. Her own inflexible 

will had never wavered. Never for one moment 

had she cast longing glances towards empire, 

preferring it in her secret heart to righteousness. 

But this very fact, that her husband was being

THE LAMENT OF GANDHARI 221 

crushed, under the doom -he had himself brought 

down upon himself, was calling out her deepest 

tenderness in this sad hour. Proud and stern 

to the whole world beside, to him Gandhari was 

all a wife, gentle and loving and timid in sight of 

his pain. She knew well that from her in these 

terrible moments might go out the force that 

destroys, and lest she should bring harm thereby 

upon Yudisthira as he approached to make salutation, 

she restrained her powers forcibly, and bent 

her eyes downward, within their 

enfolding bands, 

upon his foot and 

; immediately, 

it is said, 

point where she was looking, a burn appeared, so 

at that 

terrible was her gaze. 

But when she had spoken kindly with Draupadi 

and the Queen-mother of the Pandavas, Gandhari 

turned away from all others and addressed herself 

to Krishna. With Him alone there was no need of 

self-control. With Him she might even let the 

battlefield, with all its fearful details, rise point by 

point before the eyes of her mind. Hand in hand, 

as it were, with the Lord, she might gaze on all, 

think of all, and tell out her whole heart. 

"Behold, O Lotus-Eyed," she cried, "these 

daughters of my house ! Widowed of their lords, 

with locks unbound, hear Thou their cries of woe! 

Brooding over their dead bodies, they call to mind 

the faces of the great Bharata chiefs ! Behold 

them seeking out their husbands, their sires, their


sons and brothers ! The whole field is covered 

with these childless mothers, and widowed wives, 

of heroes. Here lie the bodies of great warriors, 

who in their lifetime were like to blazing fires. 

Here are scattered their costly gems and golden 

armour, their ornaments and garlands. The 

weapons hurled by heroic hands, spiked clubs 

and swords, and darts of many forms, lie in 

confusion here, never again to speed 

forth on 

dread errands of slaughter. And beasts of prey 

roam hither and thither at their will, amongst the 

dead. How terrible, O Krishna, 

is this battlefield 

! 

Beholding these things, O powerful One, 

I am on fire with grief 

! 

" How empty 

is now become the Universe ! 

Surely, in this dread contest of Kurus and 

Pandavas, the elements themselves have been 

destroyed ! Desolate, like ashes of dead fires, lie 

now those heroes who took the part of Duryodhana 

in this fray. On the bare earth sleep they 

who knew all softness. Hymned by the cries 

of jackals are they whose glory was chanted by 

the bards. Embracing their weapons, they lie 

low amidst the dust of battle. And the wailing 

of women mingles with the roar of hungry beasts, 

singing them to their rest. What was that destiny, 

O Krishna, that has pursued us ? Whence came 

this curse that has fallen upon us ? " Weeping 

and lamenting in this fashion, the Kuru queen


suddenly became aware that the dead body of her 

son Duryodhana lay before her. This sight was 

too much for the doom-smitten woman, and all 

her grief burst forth afresh. 

She remembered her 

own terrible blessing, 

" Victory, O my son, will 

follow the " 

Right ! 

pronounced every morning 

over the head of the kneeling prince. She saw now 

realised that same vision that had been present 

with her daily, since the battle began. All these 

days she had been treading a path of anguish 

under the shadow of the coming woe. She had 

become as it were the companion of judgment and 

sorrow, and there was no room for appeal. A 

great queen was Gandhari, wife of Dritarashtra, 

sovereign of the Kuru clans, yet she was woman 

and mother also, and her mourning that was half 

wail, half prayer, rose suddenly to a new note. 

" " Behold, O Krishna ! she said. " Behold my 

son, wont in battle to be irresistible, sleeping here 

on the bed of heroes ! Terrible are the changes 

wrought by Time ! This terror of his foes, who 

of old walked foremost amongst crowned persons, 

lies now before us in the dust. He for whose 

pleasure the fairest 

of women would vie with one 

another, has none now to bear him company save 

hungry jackals. He who was proudly encircled 

by kings, lies slain now, and encircled by the 

vultures. 

" Fanned now is he by noisome birds of prey,


with the flapping of their wings. Prince as he 

was and soldier, my son lies slain by Bhima, even 

as the elephant may be slain by the lion. Behold 

Thou him, O Krishna, lying on the bare ground 

yonder, stained with his own gore, 

slain in battle 

by the club of Bhima Not long ! since, beheld I 

the earth, full of elephants and cattle and horses, 

ruled by Duryodhana without a rival. To-day do 

I behold her destitute of creatures, and ruled by 

another. 

" Ah, why breaketh not my heart into a hundred 

fragments, at the sight of these my beloved slain 

in battle ? What sin have I and these other 

weeping daughters of men, committed, that Time 

should have brought upon us this disaster " ? 

Passing then from the contemplation of Duryodhana 

and the sons of her own household, the 

mourning chant of the Queen proceeded. Dwelling 

upon each hero in turn, Gandhari passed the 

whole history of the battle in review. Again and 

again, her mind took note of the impossibility of 

having stayed the great catastrophe at any point. 

Again and again she dwelt on the inevitableness 

of fate. Every now and then would her sobs 

break out " afresh, How early, O Blessed One, 

how early, have all these my sons been utterly 

" 

consumed ! 

The voice of Gandhari failed and broke, and 

she ceased for a moment from the wildness of her

THE LAMENT OF GANDHABI 225 

sorrow. In that moment, all that had happened 

passed swiftly before her mind. Like one who 

had risen a step on a mountain side, she saw 

suddenly also the Pandava bereavement. The 

battle appeared before her as a play, in which two 

armies had destroyed each other. Who had been 

the mover of all these puppets ? Who, that could 

have prevented, had allowed such evil to befall ? 

With one swift glance, Gandhari saw the truth, 

and, in the thunder-like tones of the prophet, 

gazing at a vision of far-off doom, with the voice 

of the judge instead of that of the mourner, she 

turned slowly round and addressed herself once 

more to the Lord of All. 

" Two armies, O Krishna, have been here consumed. 

Whilst they thus put an end to each other, 

why were Thine eyes closed ? Thou who couldst 

have done either well or as ill, pleased Thee, why 

hast Thou allowed this evil to come upon 

all ? 

Mine is it 

then, Thou Wielder of discus and mace, 

in virtue of the truth and purity of womanhood, 

to pronounce Thy doom ! 

Thou, O Govinda, 

because Thou wast indifferent to the Kurus and 

Pandavas, whilst they killed each other, shalt 

Thyself become the slayer of Thine own kinsmen. 

In the thirty-sixth year from now, O slayer of 

Kansa, having brought about the destruction of 

Thy sons and kindred, Thou shalt Thyself perish 

by woeful means, alone in the wilderness. And 

P


the women of Thy race, deprived of 

sons, kindred 

and friends, shall weep and wail in their desolation, 

" 

as do now these of the race of Bharata ! 

And lo, as Gandhari ended, the Lord looked 

upon her and smiled " 

! Blessed be thou, O 

Gandhari," said He, "in thus aiding Me in the 

ending of My task. Verily are My people, the 

Vrishnis, incapable of defeat, therefore must they 

needs die by the hands of one another. Behold, 

O mother, 

I 

accept thy curse." And all who 

listened to these words were filled with wonder 

and fear. 

Then the Holy Knight bent down to the aged 

Queen. 

" Arise, arise, O Gandhari," He said, 

" and set not thy heart on grief 

! 

By indulging 

in sorrow man increaseth it two-fold. Bethink 

thee, O daughter, that the Brahmin woman bears 

children for the practice of austerities ? The cow 

bringeth forth offspring for the bearing of burdens. 

The labouring woman addeth by child-bearing to 

the ranks of the workers. But those of royal 

blood are destined from their birth to die in 

" 

battle ! 

The Queen listened in silence to the words of 

Krishna. Only too well did she know their truth. 

Desolation was spread around and within. Nothing 

appeared before her save the life of austerity, to be 

spent in the forest. With vision purified by great 

events, she looked out upon the world, and found


it all unreal. There was nothing further to be 

said, and she remained silent. Then she and 

Dritarashtra, together with Yudisthira and the 

other heroes, restraining that grief which rises 

from folly, proceeded together to perform the 

last rites for the dead by the Ganges side.

The Doom of the 

Vrishnis 

MANY years had gone by, and men had almost 

forgotten the great warfare of their youth, on the 

Battlefield of Kurukshetra. Under the long reign 

of Yudisthira, the land had reposed, growing daily 

in prosperity. And the different peoples, living in 

different parts of India, looked up to their suzerain 

and were content. Amongst others none had 

waxed richer or more powerful than those clans 

who owned the sway of Ugrasena, King of 

Mathura, and his powerful Minister Krishna. 

Their country, from the city of Mathura on the 

Jumna, to Dwarka that Krishna had built on 

the sea-coast, was filled with abundance of good 

things. As soldiers and knights the people had 

come to enjoy life daily more and more. Their 

cities were beautiful, their mode of living was 

splendid, they possessed great treasures, and they 

themselves were fine and strong, and full of health, 

and love of manly pleasures. 

Suddenly, in the midst of all this prosperity, 

strange rumours began to be whispered about 

amongst them. Certain great lords of the court 

were said to have angered three divine sages who 

228

THE DOOM OF THE VRISHNIS 229 

had come to visit their city, by playing on them 

a practical joke, and these beings of miraculous 

power had, in their wrath, was it said, called down 

a curse upon the race, 

one day be seized with a 

that its members should 

madness from the gods, 

and exterminate each other. A terror without a 

name was felt 

amongst the people. At the very 

moment when their pride was at its height, it 

seemed as if 

coming disaster had thrown its 

shadow over them. 

The matter was carried to the ears of Ugrasena 

the King. Krishna was consulted ; 

but in Him 

there could be no fear ; 

for He regarded the 

world as a drama watched by the soul ; 

and as 

one would not cry out, in fear of the catastrophe 

seen in a play, even so He, the Lord, could feel 

no dread of the course of events. He smiled 

gently therefore on the perplexity of the King and 

his subjects. " That which is to be will surely 

happen," He said quietly, and left the Council. 

But Ugrasena could not regard thus calmly the 

possible calamity. He knew well that if 

only the 

Vrishnis maintained self-control they had no 

enemies who need be feared. Now he regarded 

wine and intoxicating liquors of all kinds as open 

doors to the madness of a gathering. Had it not 

been said that the knights would be seized with 

some strange illusion, that, intoxicated with pride, 

each other ? He therefore sternly 

they would slay

2 3 o CRADLE TALES OF HINDUISM 

forbade that such drinks should be made or sold 

within his dominions, on pain of death ; 

and 

his subjects also, understanding the great wisdom 

of this command, bound themselves over to 

refrain from their use or manufacture. 

But while the citizens of Dwarka were thus 

striving to avert the impending calamity, Death, 

the embodied form of Time, wandered daily to 

and fro amongst their dwellings. Like unto a 

man of fierce and terrible look, bald-headed, and 

dark of colour he was. Sometimes he was seen 

by the Vrishnis as he peered into their houses. 

Their greatest archers took aim again and again 

at him, 

piercing him, 

but none of their shafts succeeded in 

for he was none other than the 

Destroyer of all beings himself. Day after day 

strong winds blew, and many were the evil omens 

that were seen, awful, and foreboding the destruction 

of the royal clans. The streets swarmed 

with rats. Earthen pots showed cracks, or broke, 

from no apparent cause. Mice in the night would 

eat away the hair and nails of slumbering men. 

The chirping of the mocking-bird was constantly 

heard within the house. Cranes were known to 

hoot like owls, and goats to imitate the cries of 

Pigeons, messengers of coming ruin, were 

jackals. 

seen to enter and fly about the houses of the 

Vrishnis. Animals went astray in their kinds. 

Asses were born of kine and elephants of mules ;


kittens were fathered by dogs, and mice by the 

bent their 

mungoose. Fires, when first lighted, 

flames toward the left. Sometimes they threw 

out a blaze whose splendour burnt blue and red. 

The sun, at his rising and setting over the doomed 

city, seemed to 

be encircled with headless bodies 

of men. Those who kept silence, for prayer or 

thought, immediately became aware of the heavy 

tread about them, of marching hosts, yet never 

could they find out what had caused the sound. 

The constellations were again and again seen to 

be struck by the planets. The wives of Vrishni 

heroes dreamt nightly of a witch who came and 

snatched from their wrists the auspicious thread. 

And the guards of the royal armoury suddenly 

discovered that the place where the weapons and 

standards of State should be were empty. 

Then the Vrishnis, in their fear of what seemed 

to be coming upon them, felt the need of 

some opportunity for public prayer and penance 

for the averting of evil destiny. But Krishna, 

pondering alone upon all these portents, understood 

that the thirty-sixth year was come, and 

that the words of Gandhari, burning with grief at 

the death of her sons, and deprived as she had 

been of all her kinsmen, were about to be fulfilled. 

And seeing all things, and understanding that what 

was to be would surely come to pass, He did not 

attempt to turn aside the course of destiny, but


rather set Himself calmly and cheerfully to make 

the path of events easy. He sent heralds therefore 

throughout the city, to command the Vrishnis 

to make a pilgrimage to the sea-coast, there to 

bathe in the sacred waters of the Ocean. 

The command agreed well with the feeling 

of 

the nobles themselves, that they would do wisely, 

as a people, to appoint an occasion of public 

devotion and sacrifice, by which to avert the 

divine anger threatening them. 

Preparations were 

immediately begun, therefore, for the journey of 

the great knights, and all their households and 

retainers, to the sea-side. 

This could not be done 

without laying in large supplies of all kinds of 

provisions. And now also came the opportunity 

to break the command of Ugrasena, and the selfrestraining 

ordinance of the whole city. Great 

stores of wines and spirits were made ready, along 

with all kinds of costly meats and other viands, 

and the vast procession, with its carriages and 

elephants and horses, and its 

contingents of 

servants journeying on foot, was organised for the 

march. Little did these turbulent warriors, heads 

of powerful houses, and skilled in the wielding of 

sword and bow, suspect that their time was come ! 

Only the Lord Krishna, of infinite energy, knew the 

character of the hour and stood unmoved. 

The coast was reached, the place of encampment 

chosen, and tents were pitched. But then,


instead of worship and fasting, the Vrishnis, impelled 

by the blindness of fate, entered upon high 

revels. Wine flowed at every banquet. The field 

echoed and re-echoed with the blare of trumpets. 

On every hand were actors and dancers plying 

their vocations. Plays, tournaments, and feasts 

followed each other in rapid succession. 

A spark will cause a conflagration when the 

forest is dry. Perhaps it began 

in drunken jest. Perhaps 

reminiscence, called up by 

with a word said 

it was some indiscreet 

confused brains. In 

any case, a terrible quarrel broke out suddenly 

led to fierce 

amongst these banqueters. Anger 

recrimination, and the challenge was followed on 

every side by blows. In a few brief moments 

the scene of pleasure had become a field of 

slaughter. Those of the same blood stood ranged 

against one another. Son killed sire, in that 

awful day, and sire killed son. And men whisper 

to this day of a terrible thunderbolt of iron, 

seeming as if it were hurled by invisible hands, 

that worked havoc of death on that dread field. 

The Vrishnis, having reached the day of their 

doom, rushed upon death, even as insects rush 

into the flame. No one amongst them thought 

of flight. 

And the Wielder of discus and mace 

stood calmly in their midst, holding raised in His 

hand an iron thunderbolt, which He had formed 

out of a blade of grass.


The sound of the strife died away in silence, 

for all the clansmen save one who was sent to 

call 

Arjuna from Hastinapura had been destroyed. 

Krishna, then, leaving the camp in 

charge of servants and men-at-arms, and knowing 

well that the time for His own death had come, 

returned hastily to the city and called upon His 

father to assume the direction of affairs, holding 

the women of the Vrishnis under his protection 

till the arrival of Arjuna 

at Dwarka. For Himself, 

He said, having witnessed again a scene as 

terrible as the slaughter of the Kurus, and being 

robbed of His kinsmen, the world had become 

intolerable to Him, and He should retire to the 

forest for the life of renunciation. Having so 

spoken, 

Krishna touched with His head the feet 

of Vasudeva, and turned quickly to leave his 

presence. As he did so, however, a loud wail 

of sorrow broke from the women and children 

of His house. Hearing this, 

the merciful Lord 

retraced His steps, and, smiling upon them all 

for 

the last time, said gently, "Arjuna will come and 

will be your protector. And all 

your need shall 

be met by him." Then He departed from the 

palace, and made His way to the forest, not to 

return. 

Never again was the Lord Krishna seen of 

the 

world He had left behind. Reaching the lowest 

depths of those wild places, He established Him-

THE DOOM OF THE VBISHNIS 235 

self there in meditation. 

Deeply pondered He on 

all that had passed, grasping in His mind the curse 

of Gandhari, and the nature of Time and Death. 

Then did He set Himself towards the restraint 

of all His senses. Seated firmly beneath a tree, 

He steadied His own mind upon itself, and drew 

in all His perceptions, one after another. At last 

He became all stillness and all silence, reaching 

the uttermost rest. . . . 

Then, it is said, that all 

might be fulfilled, wrapped thus in self-communion 

as in an impenetrable mantle, Krishna laid Himself 

down upon the bare earth. Nothing in His 

whole body was vulnerable save the soles of His 

feet. And as He lay thus, a fierce huntsman came 

that way, and mistaking the feet of the Lord for a 

crouching deer, aimed at them an arrow, which 

struck Him in the heel. 

Coming quickly up to his prey, the huntsman, to 

his dismay, beheld One dressed in the yellow cloth, 

and wrapped in meditation ; 

and he knew Him 

moreover to be divine, for 

the shining-forth of innumerable arms. 

remorse, not untouched with fear, 

behind Him he beheld 

Filled with 

that huntsman 

fell to the earth and touched the feet of Krishna. 

And He, the blessed Lord, smiled upon His 

slayer, and blessed and comforted him. Then, 

with these words of compassion upon His lips, 

He ascended upwards, filling the whole sky with 

His splendour. Reaching the threshold of the


divine region, all the gods and their attendants 

advanced to meet Him, but He, filling 

all Heaven 

with His glory, passed through the midst and 

ascended up into His own inconceivable region. 

Then did the abodes of blessedness resound with 

His praises. 

All the divinities, and the sages, and 

the celestial hosts, bending before Him in humility, 

worshipped Him. The gods made salutation, and 

exalted souls offered worship, to Him Who was 

Lord of All. Angelic beings attended on Him, 

singing His praises. And Indra also, the King of 

Heaven, hymned Him right joyfully.

The Lord Krishna and the 

Broken 

Pot 

Lord Krishna was bidden by a certain 

Now, the 

rich man to a feast. And they set before Him 

many dishes. But His eye took note of a cup 

that by chance was blemished, and first this 

imperfect one He drew to Himself, and out of 

it 

began 

to eat. Which when that rich man 

saw, he fell at His feet and said, 

" O Lord, 

dealest Thou even thus with men ? Choosest 

Thou always the broken vessel first ? " 

39

The Lord Krishna and 

Lapwing's 

Nest 

the 

IT was the battlefield of Kurukshetra. The white 

conch-shells were about to sound, the elephants 

to march forward, and the attack of the archers 

to commence. The moment was brief and 

terrible. Banners were flying, and the charioteers 

preparing for the advance. Suddenly a little 

lapwing, who had built her nest in the turf of 

a hillock in the midst of the battlefield, drew 

the attention of the Lord Krishna by her cries 

of anxiety and distress for her young. 

" Poor 

" 

little mother 1 He said 

" tenderly, let this be 

thy protection ! " and, lifting a great elephant-bell 

that had fallen near, He placed 

it over the lapwing's 

nest. And so, through the eighteen days 

of raging battle that followed, a lapwing and 

her nestlings were kept in safety in their nest, 

by the mercy of the Lord, even in the midst of 

the raging field of Kurukshetra. 

240

The Story 

of Prahlad 

THERE is a strange old Hindu notion, according 

to which a very young 

child is said to be like 

a fish. Then comes a time when all the baby's 

eagerness is for food, and his little arms and 

legs and head are like so many small appendages, 

almost always kicking. This stage of development 

suggests the tortoise. Next the baby creeps on 

all-fours. How like a boar ! Then it 

begins to 

leap upwards and fall down half-man, half-lion. 

After this it becomes a dwarf or little man. 

At last comes the age of the heroes, Rama and 

Krishna, who make it 

possible 

to be a Buddha. 

Altogether, Hindus count ten of these degrees, or 

steps, and call them the ten incarnations of the 

God Vishnu. Gradually each stage has come 

to have its own wonder-tale attached to it, 

and 

perhaps the story of Prahlad is simply the legend 

that grew up about the idea of a Man-Lion. 

Hiranyakasipu was the king of the Daityas, 

or demons. Now these demons are the cousins 

of the Devas or gods, and the two parties are 

always at war with each other. The gods rule 

Q


the three worlds, their own, the upper ; 

the 

middle, where men dwell ; 

and the nether, or 

abode of the demons. But occasionally the 

demons gain control, seizing the thrones of the 

gods and usurping their power. Then the gods 

have to go to Vishnu the Preserver, and pray 

to Him to help them out of the difficulty, and 

sometimes He does it in a very curious way. 

In such an epoch, Hiranyakasipu lived and 

was king. He defeated all the gods, and seated 

himself on the throne of the three worlds, declaring 

that nowhere in the universe was there any 

god but himself, and that both demons and men 

must worship him alone. Then, in fear of a 

coming catastrophe, the gods themselves began to 

walk the earth in the form of men ; and, doubtless, 

they appealed also to the Lord Vishnu, imploring 

His aid. In any case, soon after the king's victory, 

a little son was born to him, in the city of Moultan 

in the Punjab, and he named him Prahlad. 

Curiously enough, with such a father, the little 

Prahlad proved a very religious child. He seemed 

to have inborn ideas about worship and about 

the gods. And his father, who had determined 

to drive the thought 

of the deities out of the 

world, was very much troubled about him. At 

last he made up his mind to put 

him into the 

hands of a very stern teacher, with strict orders 

that he was never to be allowed to worship any

THE STORY OF PBAHLAD 243 

one but his own father. The teacher, to have 

him better under his control, took the prince to 

his own home. It was all to no purpose. When 

they taught him his alphabet, showing him the 

letter 

" 

Ky Yes, that is for Krishna," the child 

would reply, and learn it 

eagerly. G, 

" For 

Gopala," said Prahlad, and everything that they 

could teach him, he applied at once in this way. 

Not only did he himself talk of nothing but 

Krishna ; 

he spent much of his time also in teaching 

his worship to the boys around him. This 

was too much. After struggling in vain to reform 

his pupil, the distressed schoolmaster felt that he 

must appeal to Hiranyakasipu, or the mischief 

would soon spread too far to be set right. The 

King's anger was great, and he sent for his son. " 

hear that you have been worshipping Krishna " 

! 

he thundered, when the little 

boy, who had 

been brought away from his books, stood before 

the throne. " " Yes, father ! said Prahlad bravely, 

" I have." " Are you going to promise me that 

you will never do it again ? " asked the King, and 

he looked very terrible, while the royal jewel in 

his turban shook with rage. 

" No, father, I cannot promise," said poor little 

Prahlad. 

" " 

You cannot promise 

! shouted his father, in 

amazement at his " daring. But I can have you 

" 

killed ! 

I


" Not unless it is the will of Krishna ! 

" said 

the child firmly. 

" We'll see about that," said Hiranyakasipu. 

And he ordered his guards to take Prahlad and 

throw him, though he was his own son, down 

to the bottom of the ocean, and there pile up 

rocks on top of him. 

He hoped up to the last minute that the little 

one would be frightened, and run back to give 

the promise he required. But Prahlad did not 

come. 

The fact was, he was worshipping Krishna in 

his own heart with such a feeling of love and 

happiness, that he had scarcely heard his 

father's 

words, and did not even notice when they put 

him on a stone slab, and piled huge blocks up 

on top of him, and threw the whole great mass 

out into the ocean. 

He never noticed ! He 

had forgotten 

all about 

himself. That was the secret of it. But no rocks 

could keep down one who forgot himself like this. 

So everything 

fell aside, and he rose again to the 

surface of the water. Then Prahlad remembered, 

and at once he found himself kneeling on the 

shore, face to face with the Lord Krishna Himself. 

The Lotus-Eyed smiled gently. Light seemed to 

be streaming out round Him in all directions. And 

He put His hand on Prahlad's head to bless Him, 

" 

saying, " My child, ask of Me what thou wilt !

THE STORY OF PRAHLAD 245 

" " 

O Lord ! said Prahlad, " I don't want long 

life, or riches, or anything like that But do ! give 

me a love of God that shall never change in my 

heart, however much other things may come and 

go around me that in the midst of this ; changeful 

world I may cherish unchanging love, for Thee, 

O Thou Unchangeable 

! This alone is my whole 

" 

wish ! 

" Prahlad," said the Lord Krishna solemnly, 

" you shall be always My soldier and My lover." 

Then everything that was beautiful 

disappeared, 

for the King's guards had found Prahlad again, 

and were carrying him once more into his 

presence. 

father's 

11 

Who brought you out of the sea ? " said the 

King, scarcely believing his own eyes. 

" Krishna," said the child. 

" What name dared you to utter ? " said his 

father, growing purple with fury. 

" Krishna's," replied Prahlad. 

" Where is this Krishna of yours ? " asked 

Hiranyakasipu. 

Prahlad's eyes opened wide in wonder. "Why," 

" 

he said, "He is 

everywhere ! 

" Even in this " pillar ? said the king mockingly. 

" Yes, even in that pillar!" answered his little son. 

The King uttered a loud " jarring laugh. Let 

Him appear to me, then," he " cried, in whatever 

" 

form and deed best please Him !


Terrible words ! and wonderful prayer of Hiranyakasipu 

Great beyond that of common men 

! 

must have been his power, for at this demand, 

ringing out into the ears of the Lord Himself, 

the pillar cracked from side to side, and out 

sprang One, half like a man and half like a lion, 

who leapt upon him and tore him into pieces 

! 

So the demons were driven out, and the devas 

took their own places once more. 

that the soul of Hiranyakasipu was glad 

But some say 

of this 

release. And these hold that he was the same 

who in some former birth had been Ravana, King 

of Lanka, and who yet again was to come into the 

world as Shishupal. 

For once upon a time, long before, they say, 

a great sainted soul had been driven back to 

birth by some evil fate. But a choice had been 

offered him. He might pass out of this bondage, 

it was said, after seven births as the friend of God, 

or three as His enemy. Without a moment's 

doubt he chose three births as the enemy, that 

he might the sooner return to God. Wherefore 

he became Ravana and Hiranyakasipu, and yet 

again that Shishupal whose story 

is still to tell.

The Story 

of Druwa A Myth 

of the Pole Star 

THE poetry of the world is full of the similes 

devised by poets to suggest the midnight sky. 

The great multitude of the stars shining and 

quivering, as it were, against the darkness, have 

been likened to many things to a swarm of 

golden bees, to golden apples on a tree, to a 

golden snowstorm in the sky, 

to fireflies at evening, 

holes in a tent-roof, distant lamps moving 

in the darkness, jewels on a blue banner, and so 

on, and so forth. But only in India, so far as I 

know, have they ever been compared 

to white 

ants, building up a vast blue anthill ! 

For the fact that seems most deeply to have 

impressed the Hindu mind, was not the appearance 

of the starry dome, so much as the perfect 

steadiness in it, 

of the Polar Star. Wonderful 

star the ! 

only point in all the heavens that stayed 

unmoved, while round it came and went the busy 

worlds. And this stillness moreover must have 

characterised it from the very beginning of things. 

It was never for the Pole Star to learn its quietude. 

247


It came by no degrees to its 

proper place. Rather 

has it been faithful and at rest since the very 

birth of time. Surely in all the world of men 

there could be nothing like this, unswerving, 

unerring from beginning to end, the witness of 

movement, itself immutable. Unless indeed we 

might imagine that some child in his heart had 

found the Goal, and remained thenceforth, silent, 

absorbed and stirless, from eternity to eternity, 

through all the ages of man. 

In India, the mystic land of the lotus, was born 

the child Druwa. His father was a king, and his 

mother, Suniti, the chief of all the queens. Yet 

even on a lot so fortunate as this, may 

fall the 

dark shadow of disaster. For long before the 

birth of Druwa, the son of one of the younger 

queens had been promised the throne, and the 

coming of the new child would undo this claim, 

since the son of the principal queen was undoubtedly 

the King's true heir. It is easy, therefore, 

to understand the anger and fear of the 

lesser wife at the child's birth. She was jealous 

of the new baby, on behalf of her own son, and 

did not fail to show her feeling in many ways ; 

till at last the King, in very anxiety for their safety, 

ordered his wife and little one to be exiled from 

the court, and sent them to live in a simple cottage, 

on the distant edge of a great forest. 

It was a humble cottage enough, yet charming

THE STORY OF DRUWA 249 

in its own way. 

It was built of grey mud, and 

thatched with brown palm-leaves. 

In front, there 

was a deep verandah covered by the wide eaves ; 

and here even a queen could rest, and receive 

her village-friends, without a screen, for 

facing it, 

instead of the city, 

was the impenetrable forest, 

whence at night-fall could be heard the roaring of 

wild beasts. 

More and more, as time went on, did the 

occasional visits of holy men, on their way 

through the forest to distant shrines, become the 

events of their woodside life. For the hush 

great 

of the green woods brought with it 

healing, and 

the thought of God. And a great peace entered 

gradually into the heart of Suniti the Queen. 

Thus, under her calm influence, the child Druwa 

would linger, towards sunset, near the lotus-ponds, 

dreaming of the beauty of the great 

flowers that 

rocked to and fro with every movement of the 

waters, yielding but untouched. They came by 

degrees to mean for him all holiness, 

all tenderness, 

all purity, these large pink and white lotuses, 

lying against their wide green leaves, as if the 

gods had passed that way across the waters, and 

left them blossoming in their footsteps. Or he 

would lie awake at night, and listen to the sobbing 

of the palm-leaves, rustling and swaying in the 

darkness, far above him, wondering, wondering, 

what was the story they were telling. Or he


would stand quietly, watching the peasants in the 

rice-fields that stretched to the horizon behind 

them, sowing the seed, and, when the rains lay 

deep on the earth, transplanting the crops. 

So the years passed, and the brooding silence 

of nature was all about them. Only 

in the sad 

heart of Suniti, all the joy of life was centred in 

her son. 

At last, when Druwa was seven years old, he 

began to ask about his father. " Could I not go 

to see him, Mataji, honoured mother ? " he said 

one day. 

Why, yes, my child " said ! the poor Queen, 

full of startled pleasure at the thought, yet so 

accustomed to sorrow, that she trembled at any 

change in the even tenor of their life, lest it 

should end by robbing her of the one thing that 

was still hers. "Oh yes, thou shalt go, little one, 

" 

to-morrow ! 

And so, the next day, Druwa set out, in the 

care of a guard, to seek his father, and tell him 

that he was his son. Beautiful was the road by 

which they went. High over their heads spread 

the boughs of the shady trees, and on each side 

lay the wide fields. Every now and then they would 

pass a great pond, with its handsome bathing-steps 

on one side, crowned by an arch, and near by 

would see the children of the village playing. For 

each village had its own bathing-pond and its own

temple. 


And in the streets, as they passed through 

them, it being still early in the morning, they 

would see the jeweller working over his little 

stove, the potter turning his wheel, and the cowherds 

taking the cows to pasture in the distant 

meadows. Sometimes the child walked, and sometimes 

he was carried. At last they arrived at the 

royal gates, and Druwa went in, past the sentinels, 

and entered the palace itself. On and on he 

went, till he reached the hall of audience, then he 

came to the steps of the throne, and there, at last, 

he saw the King himself. At this point, he ran to 

his father's arms. 

The King was overcome with joy. Not one day 

had gone by, of all those seven years, without 

his longing for his wife and son, and here was 

suddenly the little one himself, come of his own 

accord, full of love and trust. He felt as if he 

could never caress him enough, or distinguish 

him enough, to make up for those long years of 

neglect. 

At this very moment, however, Druwa's stepmother 

entered the hall. If 

only this lady had 

been the Queen, her son would have had the right 

to be King some day, and she would not have 

needed to claim the succession for him. But as 

it 

was, she could never forget that her rival Suniti 

was the real Queen, and that Druwa therefore was 

the rightful heir. And her whole heart was full


of jealousy. Now, therefore, her anger knew no 

bounds. She taunted her husband with the 

memory of his early promise, and spoke words 

so wicked about the child on his knee, that in 

haste he put him down, and turned to plead with 

her, as if afraid that her evil prayers might come 

to pass. 

But even a child knows that a strong man or 

woman is the greatest thing in the whole world, 

and when his father put him away, Druwa felt as 

if his heart had broken within him, at finding him 

weak. Silently, all unnoticed, he touched his feet, 

and kissed the steps of the throne before him. 

Then he turned, beckoned to his guard, and 

went. 

It seemed a long way home. But at last 

they reached the doorway, where the Queen had 

watched hour after hour, not able to rest, in her 

terrible fear that something might have happened 

to her boy. The servant disappeared, and the 

child lifted the long lath-curtain, and bounded into 

her presence. Ah, how glad she was to see him ! 

Here, at least, he was at home. 

Then they went out into the verandah together, 

and Druwa began to eat the fruits and cakes that 

were laid in readiness. While he ate, his graceful 

young mother watched him anxiously. Yes, it 

was as she had feared it 

might be. There was a 

difference. Something sad had come into the


little face, as if in that one short day 

it had 

grown much older. And Suniti sighed, for she 

knew that all the happy years of his childhood 

were behind them. He would never be her baby 

any more. 

But when he had finished his meal for to 

speak while eating would have been grave disrespect 

Druwa told her exactly what had 

! 

happened, and the two sat sad and silent for 

awhile. Then he asked a strange question : 

" Mother ! is there any one in the world who is 

stronger than my father ? " 

" Oh yes, my child ! " she answered, thinking of 

the Lord Krishna, and half shocked at Druwa's 

ignorance, " Oh yes, my child, the Lotus-Eyed ! " 

The solemn little face grew all eagerness. 

" And mother, where dwells He ? " he asked. 

" " Oh, far far away she answered ! vaguely, and 

then, seeing that she must give a " 

reply, Deep 

in the heart of the forest, where the tiger lives, 

and the bear, there dwells the Lotus-Eyed, my 

" 

son ! 

Druwa said little more. A voice seemed to be 

sounding 

in his heart. It was so loud that sometimes 

he wondered if his mother did not hear it. 

From far far away in the depths of the forest it 

" 

Come to me ! and he 

called, " Come to me ! 

knew that it was the voice of the Lotus-Eyed, in 

Whom was all strength.


About midnight, he could bear it no longer. 

He rose up from his little bed, and stood over 

his sleeping mother for a moment. She did not 

wake. " O Lotus-Eyed, 

I leave my mother to 

Thee ! 

" 

he said in his heart. Then he stole 

quietly out, and stood on the verandah, looking 

at the forest. 

It 

was bright moonlight, and the trees cast long 

black shadows. He had never been allowed to 

go even a little way into the forest alone, and 

now he was going down to its 

very heart. But 

it must be right, for he could hear the voice 

calling, " " 

Come to me ! louder than ever. " O 

Lotus-Eyed, I give myself to Thee " he ! said, and 

stepped off the verandah, and over the grass into 

the forest. 

He was barefooted, but the thorns were 

nothing. He had been weary, but that was all 

forgotten. On and on without resting, he went, 

seeking the Lotus-Eyed. 

At last he reached the heart of the forest. 

Then came one with great fiery eyes, and hot 

breath, and swinging tail. Druwa did not know 

who it was. He went up to him eagerly. "Are 

you the Lotus-Eyed " ? he asked. And the Tiger 

slunk away ashamed. Next came something with 

heavy footsteps and deep dark fur. " Are you the 

Lotus-Eyed " ? asked Druwa. And the Bear, too, 

slunk away ashamed. Still the child heard the


voice of the Lotus -Eyed in his heart, saying, 

" " 

Come ! Come ! And he waited. All at once, 

out of the darkness of the forest there appeared 

before him a holy man, whose name was Narada, 

and he laid his hands on his head, saying " Little 

One, you seek the ! 

Lotus-Eyed Let me teach 

you the way by which you shall find Him, and 

" 

where ! 

And then he showed him how to sit down on 

the earth, without moving, and to say over and 

over " again, Hail, Blessed One, Lord of the 

" 

Worlds ! Hail ! And he said that if his whole 

thought could fasten without wavering, in 

perfect 

steadiness, on the words he spoke, he would find 

the Lotus-Eyed, without a doubt. 

The boy sank down on the ground, as he was 

told, and began to repeat the sacred text. Like a 

rock he sat there, moving not a muscle. Even 

when the white ants came to build their anthill, 

and raised it 

up around him, he never stirred. 

For deep in his own heart Druwa had found the 

Lotus-Eyed, and he had come to rest for ever. 

So the Pole Star was given him for his home, 

and is called to this day Druwa-Lok. 

But some say that away beyond it is another, 

larger and just as true, and that there Druwa's 

mother, Suniti, was placed, that her child might 

be always at her feet, and joy be hers, throughout 

the countless ages of those stars.

Gopala 

and the Cowherd 

FIRST I must tell 

you that Gopala had the best 

mother that ever lived. His father, too, had been 

a good man. He had not cared about money. 

All he had wanted was to be good, and read the holy 

books, learning all the beautiful things he could, 

and teaching them to other people. The village 

folk regarded him as their learned man, so they 

gave him a little field in which he could grow 

corn, and there was a patch of ground near his 

house which produced fruit and vegetables, and 

this had always been enough. When he lay dying 

he said to his " wife, Beloved, 

I am not very 

anxious about you and I 

Gopala. know that our 

Lord Himself will take care of you. 

Besides, the 

field will bring you corn, and our kind neighbours 

will dig the garden for you, that you may have 

food." And the mother said, 

" Quite right, my 

husband. Have no care about us. We shall 

do well." Thus she cheered him, with all her 

all his 

strength, that he might die in peace, fixing 

thought on God. 

And when all was over, the neighbours came 

and carried the dead body away. And they put 

256

GOPALA AND THE COWHERD 257 

it on a pile of wood, and set lighted straw to 

it, 

and it was burned until only a few ashes were 

left. Then they took the ashes and threw them 

into the river, and that was the end of Gopala's 

father. 

So now the child and his mother lived all 

alone 

in the forest, and the only thing she was waiting 

for was the day when she also could die and 

rejoin her husband. But she wanted to be quite 

sure of being allowed to go to him. So she said 

many many prayers, and bathed three times every 

day, and tried to be hardworking and good. And 

the neighbours were indeed kind. Her corn was 

sown and harvested with that of the village, 

and 

they came and helped in the gardening, so that 

there was always food enough. 

By-and-by, when Gopala was four or five 

years 

old, his mother felt that it was time he went to 

school. Only before that could happen, he must 

have new clothes ; 

and a little mat to carry under 

his arm, and unroll for a seat at school ; 

and 

inside the mat, a number of palm-leaves for a 

copy-book, and a pen-box 

with an inkstand in 

it, 

and some reed pens. He would not need a 

slate just yet, for very little boys have sand strewn 

over the floor, and make their first letters and 

ng'-'-es, with their fingers, in that. I wish you 

could have seen the new clothes he wanted ! 

Poor little Gopala ! India is such a hot country 

R


that two long pieces of cotton are all a little boy 

needs. One, called the chudder, is thrown over the 

left shoulder like a kind of shawl. And the other, 

the dhoti, is 

folded round him below, and fastened 

in at the waist. I 

suppose 

he would want four 

of these, two for to-day, and two for to-morrow, 

when to-day's suit would be washed in the stream. 

Of course all these things together cost very 

little, but to the poor mother it seemed a great 

deal, and she had to work hard for many days 

at her spinning-wheel, to earn the money.' 

At last all was ready, and, carefully choosing a 

lucky day, 

she blessed her little son, 

and stood at 

the cottage door, watching him go down the forestpath 

to his first lessons. 

As for Gopala, he went on and on. The road 

seemed very long, and he was beginning to wonder 

if he had lost his way, when at last the village 

came in sight, 

and he could see numbers of other 

that he 

boys going in to school. Then he forgot 

had been a little frightened, and hurried up with 

the others and presented himself in class. 

It was a long and delightful day. Even when 

lessons were over, there were games with the other 

boys, and when at last he set out to go home, 

it was almost dark. It was a long time before 

Gopala could forget that first walk home through 

the forest, alone. It 

grew darker and darker, and 

he could hear the roars of wild beasts. At last


he was so frightened that he did not know what 

to do, and so began to run and never stopped 

till 

he was in his mother's arms. 

Next morning he did not want to go 

to school. 

" But," said his mother, " you had such a happy 

day yesterday, my child, and learnt many beautiful 

things ! You said you loved your lessons. Why 

do you not wish to go to-day ? " 

" School is all 

very well, mother," he replied, 

" but I am afraid to go alone through the 

forest." 

And then he stood there, so ashamed ! But 

how do you think his mother felt ? Oh, such a 

terrible pain came into her heart, because she 

was too poor to 

send any 

one with him to school. 

It was only for a minute though, and then she 

remembered the Lord Krishna. She was one of 

those who worship Him as 

a young child, almost 

a baby, and she had called her own little one 

after Him, for the word Gopala means " Cowherd." 

So she told her little boy a story. She said, 

" You know, my child, there lives in these woods 

another son of mine Who is also called Gopala. 

He herds cows in the forest yonder. He is always 

somewhere, near the path, and if 

you call out to 

him, ' Oh, Cowherd Brother, come with me to 

school !' He will come and take care of you, and 

then you will not be frightened, will you ? "


And Gopala said, 

" Is it really true that my 

Brother will come and take care of me ? " 

And his mother said, 

" Yes, it is true just as 

true as it is that you are God's child, and that 

He loves you." 

" Good-bye, mother," said " 

Gopala ; I love to 

go to school." 

He set out bravely enough, but a little 

way 

down the forest path it was rather dark, and he 

began to feel afraid. He could hear his own 

So he called " out, O Brother 

heart go pit-a-pat. 

Cowherd, Brother Cowherd, come and play with 

me!" 

The bushes first 

began to rustle, and then 

parted, and out peeped a boy's head, with a little 

gold crown on it, and a peacock's feather in the 

crown. Then a big boy jumped out and took 

the child's hand, and they played 

all the way to 

school. 

But when they came near the village, the young 

Cowherd, telling His little brother to call Him again, 

on his way home, went back to his cows. There 

was something so lovely about this boy, He was 

so full of fun, and yet so kind and gentle and 

strong, that Gopala grew to love Him as he had 

never loved any one before. 

And as, day after day, he told his mother all 

about it, 

words could not express her gratitude. 

But she was not in the least surprised. It seemed


to her quite natural that the Child Krishna should 

comfort a mother's heart. 

So time went on. And then something happened. 

The schoolmaster announced that he must 

give a feast a wedding-party, or something of 

the kind. 

Now people in India practically never pay a 

schoolmaster for keeping a school. It is quite 

easy for him, all the same, to obtain food. For 

and the villagers plant and dig for him also. 

his field, like the widow's, is part of the villagelot, 

But on a special occasion, such as the present, 

when it becomes known to his pupils that he must 

provide a feast, each boy will go home to his 

parents and " say, My noble teacher " for so the 

master is called " my noble teacher is about to 

give a party. What gifts can I take to him " 

? 

Then some mothers will set to work and cook 

quantities of sweetmeats, cakes, and puddings ; 

some 

will prepare great trays of fruit ; 

one will 

buy 

beautiful silk cloth for him and his wife to wear 

at time of worship, and others will send cotton and 

muslin for daily clothing. 

In this way the schoolmaster 

and his wife are amply provided for. 

And now, like others of course, Gopala said to 

his mother that night, 

" Mother, to-morrow is 

our noble teacher's party. What can I take to 

him?" 

Again her child's words made the poor mother


very sad for a moment. She knew that she was 

not rich enough to give her little boy anything 

for his master. But it was only a moment, 

and she brightened up again, for she thought of 

the Child Krishna, and knew that He would help 

them. 

" I cannot give you anything to take to your 

teacher, but ask your 

Brother in the forest for 

something as you go to school in the morning," 

she said. 

So in the morning Gopala and the Shepherd 

Boy played all the way to school ; 

but just as He 

was leaving, Gopala said to him, "O Brother, 

I 

almost forgot. Will you give me something for 

my teacher to-day? He is 

going to have a party." 

" What can I 

give you 

? What am I but a 

poor Cowherd ? Oh, but I know " and away He 

ran for a moment, and came back with a little 

bowl of sour milk. In India they 

eat the thick 

part of sour milk, and call it curds. And He said, 

"That is all I can give you, Gopala. 

It is 


a poor Cowherd's offering. But give 

it to your 

teacher." 

Gopala thought it was a beautiful present, the 

more so because it came from his woodland 

friend. So he hastened to the master's house, 

and stood eagerly waiting behind a crowd of 

boys, all handing over what they had brought. 

Many and varied were the offerings, and none


thought even of noticing the gift of the fatherless 

child. 

This neglect was disheartening, and tears 

stood 

in the eyes of Gopala, when, by a sudden stroke 

of fortune, his teacher chanced to look at him. 

He took the tiny pot of curd from his hands, 

and went to empty it into a larger vessel, but, 

to his wonder, the pot filled up again. Again he 

poured, again the little pot was full. And so he 

went on, while it filled faster than he could empty 

it. Then the master gave them all curds to eat, 

and went on pouring and pouring. 

Still the little 

cup was full. Every one said, " What does this 

mean ? " And Gopala, as much astonished as the 

rest, understood for the first time Who his Brother 

in the forest was. Never till this moment had he 

even guessed that the Child Krishna Himself had 

come to play with him. So when the master 

turned to him with the " question, Where did 

you get this curd " ? it was very reverently that 

he " answered, I 

got it in the forest, from my 

Brother, the Cowherd." 

"Who is He?" 

" One who comes and plays with me on my 

way to school," said " 

Gopala. He wears a crown 

on His head, with a peacock's feather in it, 

and 

carries a flute in His hand. When I reach school 

He goes back and tends His cows, and when I 

am going home He comes again to play with me."


11 Can you show me your Brother in the forest ? " 

" If 

you come, Sir, I can call." 

So hand in hand the master and Gopala went 

along the path together. At the usual place the 

child called, " Cowherd Brother ! Brother Cowherd 

! Won't you come ? " But no voice answered. 

Gopala did not know what to do, and 

he saw a look of doubt on his teacher's face, so 

he cried once more, " O Brother Cowherd, if you 

do not come, they will think I do not tell the 

" 

truth ! 

Then came a voice, as if from far away within 

the forest, 

" Nay, 

little 

one, I cannot show My 

face. Thy master still has long to wait. Few 

" 

sons indeed are blest with mothers like to thine !

A CYCLE OF GREAT KINGS

The Story 

of Shibi Rana ; or, 

The Eagle and the Dove 

THERE was a certain king whose name was Shibi 

Rana, and his power was so great, and grew so 

rapidly, that the gods in high heaven began to 

tremble, lest he should take their kingdoms away 

from them. Then they thought of a stratagem 

by which to test his self-control, and humble him 

by proving his weakness. For in the eyes 

of the 

gods only that man is invincible who is perfectly 

master of himself. 

One day, as Shibi Rana sat on his throne in 

and its 

his pillared hall, with the open courtyard 

gardens and fountains stretching far before, there 

appeared high up in the air, flying straight towards 

him, a white dove, pursued by an eagle, who was 

evidently trying 

to kill it. Fast as the dove flew 

in its terror, the eagle flew faster. But just as 

it 

was on the point of being captured, 

the smaller 

bird reached the throne of Shibi Rana ; the King 

opened his robe, and without a moment's hesitation 

it fluttered in, and nestled, panting and 

trembling, against 

his heart. 

267


Then the eagle's flight came to a stop before 

the throne, and his whole form seemed so to blaze 

with anger, that every one trembled except the 

monarch, and no one felt the slightest surprise at 

hearing him speak. 

" " Surrender my prey 

! he commanded in a 

loud voice, facing the King. 

" Nay," said Shibi Rana quietly ; 

" the dove has 

taken refuge with me, and I shall not betray 

its 

trust." 

" This, then, is 

your vaunted mercy ? " sneered 

have sheltered 

the eagle. "The dove that you 

was to have been my food. Show your power by 

protecting it, and you starve me. Is such your 

intention " ? " Not at all," said the King ; 

" in fact, I will give 

you in its place an equal quantity of any other 

food you choose." 

" Of any other food " ? said the eagle mockingly. 

" But suppose 

I asked for your own flesh " ? 

" My own flesh should be given," said Shibi 

Rana firmly. 

A harsh laugh sounded through the 

hall, startling 

those who were standing about the throne ; 

but when they looked again at the face of 

the bird, his eye was steady and piercing as 

before. 

"Then I 

require," said he, speaking slowly and 

deliberately, "that this dove be weighed 

in the

THE STOEY OF SHIBI RANA 269 

balances against an equal weight of the King's 

flesh." 

" It shall be done," said Shibi Rana motioning 

for the scales. 

" " 

Stay 

! said the " eagle. The flesh must be 

cut from the right side of the body only." 

" That is easily granted," said the King with a 

to an officer. 

smile. 

" And your wife and son must be present at the 

" 

sacrifice ! 

" Bring the Queen and my son into our presence," 

said the King 

So the witnesses took their places, the balances 

were brought, and the dove was placed on one 

side, while the executioner prepared to carry out 

the horrible order. As he proceeded, however, 

it was found, to the dismay of the whole court, 

that with each addition of the King's flesh the 

dove grew heavier, and the weights 

could not be made equal. 

Then at last, from the left eye 

of the two 

of Shibi Rana 

there fell a single tear. 

" " Stop 

! thundered the " eagle, I want no 

unwilling sacrifice. Your tears destroy 

the value 

of your gift." 

" Nay, my friend," said the King gently, turning 

on the eagle a face radiant with joy "nay, my 

friend, you are mistaken it is 

; only that the left 

side weeps, because, on behalf of the weak and


unprotected, it is given to the right of the King 

" 

alone to suffer ! 

At these words, startling all who heard them, 

the forms of the eagle and the dove were seen to 

have vanished, and in their place stood 

Indra, the 

Chief of the Gods, and Agni, the God of Fire. 

And the voice of Indra was hushed with reverence 

as he said, "Against greatness like that of 

Shibi Rana, the gods themselves shall struggle 

but in vain. Blessed be thou, O King, Protector 

of the Unprotected, who burnest with the joy of 

sacrifice ! For to such souls must the very gods 

do homage, yielding to them a place above themselves."

Bharata 

ONCE upon a time, in those bright ages when 

India was young, there lived a great king, Bharata, 

and so famous was he that even now the people 

speak of their country amongst themselves as 

Bharat Varsha, or Bharata's Land ; 

and it is 


foreigners who talk of it 

In the days of this ruler, 

as " India." 

it was considered the 

right thing for every man, when he had finished 

educating his family when his daughters were 

all married, his business affairs in order, and his 

sons well-established in life to say 

farewell to 

the world and retire to the forest, there to give 

the remainder of his life 

to prayer and the thought 

of God. This was considered to be the duty of 

all, whatever their station in life, priest and merchant, 

king and labourer, all alike. 

And so in the course of events the great King 

Bharata, type of the true Hindu sovereign, gave 

up his wealth and power and withdrew. His 

family and people woke up one morning, and he 

was gone. That was all. But every one understood 

that it meant that he had passed out of the 

city during the night in the garb of a beggar, and


the news spread through the country that his son 

was king. Just as the water of a lake closes over 

a stone thrown into it, 

and leaves no trace, so 

society went on its usual course, and the loss of 

Bharata made no mark. 

And he made his way to the forests and plunged 

into meditation. He had had enough of riches 

and dignity. So they were easy to give up. He 

thought that he wanted nothing more that the 

world could give, save only peace. 

But one day, as he sat under a great tree, 

repeating the name of God, a mother deer with 

her little one came down to the stream close by 

to drink. Just at that moment a lion roared in 

the forest, and the poor mother, startled, tried to 

jump the stream, carrying her fawn. But the 

shock had been too much for her. As she reached 

the opposite bank she died, and her babe slipped 

back into the river, and was carried down by the 

current. Bharata, the hermit, saw the whole 

occurrence, and, full of mercy to all living things, 

broke through his devotions to run and save the 

fawn. He waded into the stream, and catching 

it in his arms, bore it into his hut and lighted a 

fire, by whose warmth he fondled it back to 

life. Alas, 

this beautiful deed became the saint's 

to be 

stumbling-block For all his hope grew ! 

centred on this foster-child, and he who could 

give up crown and kingdom and money, 

like so

BHARATA 273 

much dross, forgot God for a baby deer ! When 

night drew on and his whole mind should have 

been concentrated in meditation, he would be 

wondering why his little one had not come home, 

and agonising lest some tiger had eaten it. 

So, when the time came for him to die, it was 

on the tearful eyes of the fawn that his eyes 

looked, and of his love for it that he thought last, 

instead of thinking of God. 

Now we know that the last 

thought of the 

dying determines his next life. We begin again 

just where we left off. Naturally, therefore, 

in his next birth, Bharata himself became a 

deer. 

But his prayers 

and devotion also could not 

fail to bear their fruit. So this deer remembered 

all that had happened to him in the past, though 

he had not the gift of speech. Therefore he wandered 

always near the hermitages, ate the remains 

of the offerings whenever he had a chance, and 

listened to the readings of the sacred texts. In 

this way he exhausted the results of his sin, and 

was born once more in a human body. 

This time he was the son of a Brahmin, which 

was a great advantage. For the Brahmin caste is 

the highest and most religious amongst the Hindus. 

Hence in it the greatest amount of bathing is 

done ; 

the greatest pains are taken that food shall 

be clean and simple, and of the proper kinds ; 

s 

and


every man has a right to learn Sanskrit, and read 

the holy books. 

But Bharata had forgotten nothing of his last 

two lives, and this time he determined to finish the 

struggle, 

and rid himself of this 

bondage 

of birth. 

For we must always remember that in the Indian 

religion these bodies of ours are held to be prisons, 

where we are subject to many tortures, to pain and 

need, and separation from those we love. And 

the great object of the struggle of life is to be free, 

and reach the place where we may chose what we 

shall do, whether to come back into 

them or not. 

This was what Bharata wanted, so he made up his 

mind that in this birth he would be quite silent, 

and dwell upon God in his heart, thus avoiding 

all temptation to further sin. And this vow he 

kept. Only he spoke once, and this was how it 

: 

happened 

He was supposed by his family to be dumb and 

an idiot. It did not occur to any one then that 

he ought to marry. So when his father died his 

brothers divided the property amongst themselves, 

and regarding him as good for nothing they 

divided his share also, and allowed him to make 

himself useful, and live upon their charity. During 

the day, the wives of his brothers would use him 

in lifting and carrying, and he would perform 

patiently whatever labour was imposed on him. 

Sometimes they would be angry, and then he

BHARATA 275 

would go out and sit under a tree, waiting 

till 

their anger had cooled. One day this had happened 

as usual, and Bharata had withdrawn, 

when a royal palankeen came in sight, borne by 

three coolies instead of four. Seeing this stronglooking 

fellow whom they soon discovered to be 

dumb seated by the roadside, the bearers insisted 

on putting down their burden till he had 

been forced to join them. Now the occupant of 

the palankeen was a king, who was proud of his 

learning, 

and he looked out and commanded the 

Brahmin to help in carrying him. Perhaps that 

one glance was enough to show Bharata that he 

had a message to that soul. He jumped up, took 

one pole of the chair, and began to walk. But 

he was curiously unsteady 

! 

Hop 

! 

jump 

! jolt ! 

he went; jolt 

! 

jump hop ! ! It was terrible to be 

carried in this way. For Bharata was full of 

and he had to move 

mercy to every living thing, 

aside for each ant and beetle and worm, 

lest his 

foot should kill it. At last the King put out his 

head. "Art thou too weary, O boor, to walk 

" If so, put down thy burden 

straight " ? he said. 

and rest once more." His new servant looked at 

him, smiling, and spoke for the first time in his life, 

and his voice was as sweet as liquid honey, and 

his words were as the words of kings 

" Whom, O Friend, do you address as l thou '? 

And whom do you call by the name of ' boor '?


Is there anything 

in the whole world that is not 

yourself 

weariness or rest ? " Such a light of greatness 

beamed about the man, that all who heard were 

? And to that Self can there be either 

overawed, and the King got out of the palankeen 

and prostrated himself, putting the dust of his feet 

on his own head. 

"What, O Mighty One, art thou ? " he said. 

And sitting down by the roadside, Bharata instructed 

him for many hours, 

till the desire for 

freedom was lighted also in the King's heart, and 

he never rested till he had given up his kingdom 

and become a wanderer. But the Brahmin went 

back to his own people, and never spoke again. 

And when at last there came to him the hour of 

death, then was he indeed free. 

the bondage of re-birth no more. 

Bharata endured

The Judgment-Seat 

of Vikramaditya 

FOR many centuries in Indian history there was 

no city so famous as the city of Ujjain. It was 

always renowned as the seat of learning. Here 

lived at one time the poet Kalidas, one of the 

supreme poets of the world, 

fit to be named 

with Homer and Dante and Shakespeare. And 

here worked and visited, only a hundred and 

fifty years ago, an Indian king, who was also a 

great and learned astronomer, the greatest of his 

day, Rajah Jey Singh of Jeypore. So one can see 

what a great love all 

for the ancient city of Ujjain. 

who care for India must feel 

But deep in the hearts of the Indian people, 

one name is held even dearer than those I have 

mentioned the name of Vikramaditya, who 

became King of Malwa, it is said, in the year 

57 before Christ. How many, many years ago 

must that be ! But so clearly is he remembered, 

that to this day when a Hindu wants to write a 

letter, after putting something religious at the top 

or "Call on the 

"The Name of the Lord/' 

Lord," or something of the sort and 

after writing 

his address, as we all do in beginning a letter, 

277


when he states the date, 

he would not say, 

" of the 

year of the Lord 1900," for instance, meaning 

1900 years after Christ, as we might, but he 

would say "of the year 1957 of the Era of 

Vikramaditya." 1 So we can judge for ourselves 

whether that name is ever likely to be forgotten 

in India. Now who was this Vikramaditya, 

and why 

was he so loved ? The whole of that 

secret, after so long a time, we can scarcely hope 

to recover. He was like our King Arthur, 

or like 

Alfred the Great so strong and true and gentle 

that the men of his own day almost worshipped 

him, and those of all after times were obliged to 

give him the first place, though they had never 

looked in his face, nor appealed to his great and 

tender heart simply because they 

never king had been loved like this king. 

could see that 

But one 

thing we do know about Vikramaditya. 

It is told 

of him that he was the greatest judge in history. 

Never was he deceived. Never did he punish 

the wrong man. The guilty trembled when they 

came before him, for they knew that his eyes 

would look straight into their guilt. 

And those 

who had difficult questions to ask, and wanted 

to know the truth, were thankful to be allowed to 

come, for they knew that their King would never 

rest till he understood the matter, and that then 

he would give an answer that would convince all. 

1 

The name of this era is Samvat.

JUDGMENT-SEAT OF VIKRAMADITYA 279 

And so, in after time in India, when any judge 

pronounced sentence with great skill, 

it would be 

said of him, " Ah, he must have sat in the judgmentseat 

of Vikramaditya ! " 

And this was the habit 

of speech of the whole country. Yet in Ujjain 

itself, the poor people forgot that the heaped-up 

ruins a few miles away had been his palace, and 

only the rich and learned, and the wise men who 

lived in kings' courts, remembered. 

The story 

I am about to tell 

you happened 

long, long ago but 

; yet there had been time for 

the old palace and fortress of Ujjain to fall into 

ruins, and for the sand to be heaped up over 

them, covering the blocks of stone, and bits of old 

wall, often with grass and dust, and even trees. 

There had been time, too, for the people to 

forget. 

In those days, the people of the villages, as they 

do still, used to send their cows out to the wild 

land to graze. 

Early in the morning they would go, in the 

care of the shepherds, and not return till 

evening, 

close on dusk. How I wish I could show you 

that coming and going of the Indian cows ! 

Such gentle 

little creatures they are, with such 

large wise eyes, and a great hump between their 

shoulders ! And they are not timid or wild, like 

our cattle. For in India, amongst the Hindus, 

every one loves them. They are very useful and


precious in that hot, dry country, and no one is 

allowed to tease or frighten them. Instead of 

that, the little girls come at daybreak and pet 

them, giving them food and hanging necklaces 

of flowers about their necks, saying poetry to 

them, and even strewing flowers before their 

feet ! And the cows, for their part, seem to feel 

as if 

they belonged to the family, just 

and dogs do. 

as our cats 

If 

they live in the country, they delight in being 

taken out to feed on the grass in the daytime but 

; 

of course some one must go with them, to frighten 

off wild beasts, and to see that they do not stray 

too far. They wear little tinkling bells, that ring 

as they move their heads, saying, " Here ! here ! 

And when it is time to go home to the village for 

the night, what a pretty sight they make ! 

One cowherd stands and calls at the edge of 

the 

pasture and another goes around behind the 

cattle, to drive them towards him, and so they 

come quietly forward from here and there, sometimes 

breaking down the brushwood in their path. 

And when the herdsmen are sure that all are safe, 

they turn homewards one leading in front, one 

bringing up the rear, and the cows making a long 

procession between them. As they go they kick 

up the dust along the sun-baked path, 

they seem to be moving through a cloud, 

" 

till at last 

with the 

last rays of the sunset it. 

touching And so the


Indian people call 

twilight, cowdust, "the hour of 

cowdust." It is a very peaceful, a very lovely 

moment. All about the village can be heard the 

sound of the children playing. The men are 

seated, talking, round the foot of some old tree, 

and the women are gossiping or praying in their 

houses. 

To-morrow, before dawn, all will be up and 

hard at work again, but this is the time of rest 

and joy. 

Such was the life of the shepherd boys in the 

villages about Ujjain. There were many of them, 

and in the long days on the pastures they had 

plenty of time for fun. One day they found a 

playground. Oh, how delightful 

it was ! The 

ground under the trees was rough and uneven. 

Here and there the end of a great stone peeped 

out, and many of these stones were beautifully 

carven. In the middle was a green mound, looking 

just like a judge's seat. 

One of the boys thought so at least, and he ran 

and seated himself on it. 

forward with a whoop 

11 1 say, boys," he " cried, I'll be judge and you 

can all 

bring cases before me, and we'll have 

" 

trials ! Then he straightened his face, and became 

very grave, to act the part of judge. 

The others saw the fun at once, and, whispering 

amongst themselves, quickly made up some quarrel, 

and appeared before him, saying very humbly,


" May your worship be pleased 

to settle between 

my neighbour and me which is in the right ? " 

Then they stated the case, one saying that a 

certain field was his, another that it was not, and 

so on. 

But now a strange thing made itself felt. When 

the judge had sat down on the mound, he was 

just a common boy. 

But when he had heard the 

question, even to the eyes of the frolicsome lads, 

he seemed quite different. He was now full of 

gravity, and, instead of answering in fun, he took 

the case seriously, and gave an answer which in 

that particular case was perhaps the wisest that 

man had ever heard. 

The boys were a little frightened. For though 

they could not appreciate the judgment, yet his 

tone and manner were strange and impressive. 

Still they thought it was fun, and went away again, 

and, with a good deal more whispering, concocted 

another case. Once more they put 

it to their 

judge, and once more he gave a reply, as it were 

out of the depth of a long experience, with incontrovertible 

wisdom. And this went on for hours 

and hours, he sitting on the judge's seat, listening 

to the questions propounded by the others, and 

always pronouncing sentence with the same wonderful 

gravity and power. Till at last it was time 

to take the cows home, and then he jumped down 

from his place, and was just like any other cowherd.


The boys could never forget that day, and whenever 

they heard of any perplexing dispute they 

would set this boy on the mound, and put 

it to 

him. And always the same thing happened. The 

spirit of knowledge and justice would come to 

him, and he would show them the truth. But 

when he came down from his seat, he would be 

no different from other boys. 

Gradually the news of this spread through the 

country-side, and grown-up men and women 

from all the villages about that part would bring 

their lawsuits to be decided in the court of the 

herd-boys on the grass under the green trees. 

And always they received a judgment that both 

sides understood, and went away satisfied. So 

all the disputes in that neighbourhood were 

settled. 

Now Ujjain had long ceased to be a capital, 

and the King now lived very far away, hence it 

was some time before he heard the story. At last, 

however, it came to his ears. " Why," he said, 

" that boy must have sat on the Judgment-Seat of 

" 

Vikramaditya He ! spoke without thinking, but 

all around him were learned men, who knew the 

chronicles. They looked at one another. " The 

King speaks truth," they said " 

; the ruins in 

yonder meadows were once Vikramaditya's 

" 

palace ! 

Now this sovereign had long desired to be pos-


sessed with the spirit of law and justice. Every 

day brought its problems and difficulties to him, 

and he often felt weak and ignorant in deciding 

matters that needed wisdom and strength. 

" If 

sitting on the mound brings it to the shepherd 

boy," he thought, " let us dig deep and find the 

Judgment-Seat. 

I shall put it in the chief place in 

my hall of audience, and on it I shall sit to hear 

all cases. Then the spirit of Vikramaditya will 

descend on me also, and I shall always be a just 

" 

judge ! 

So men with spades and tools came to disturb 

the ancient peace of the pastures, and the grassy 

knoll where the boys had played was overturned. 

All about the spot were now heaps of earth and 

broken wood and upturned sod. And the cows 

had to be driven further afield. 

But the heart of 

the boy who had been judge was sorrowful, as if 

the very home of his soul were being taken away 

from him. 

At last the labourers came on something. 

They uncovered it a slab of black marble, 

supported on the hands and outspread wings of 

twenty-five stone angels, with their faces turned 

outwards as if for flight surely the Judgment- 

Seat of Vikramaditya. 

With great rejoicing 

it was brought to the city, 

and the King himself stood by while it was put in 

the chief place in the hall of justice. Then the


nation was ordered to observe three days of 

prayer and fasting, for on the fourth day the King 

would ascend the new throne publicly, and judge 

justly amongst the people. 

At last the great morning arrived, and crowds 

assembled to see the Taking of the Seat. Pacing 

through the long hall came the judges and priests 

of the kingdom, followed by the sovereign. 

Then, 

as they reached the Throne of Judgment, they 

parted into two lines, and he walked up the 

middle, prostrated himself before it, 

and went close 

up 

to the marble slab. 

When he had done this, however, and was just 

about to sit down, one of the twenty-five stone 

angels began to " 

speak. Stop!" 

it said: "Thinkest 

thou that thou art worthy to sit on the Judgment- 

Seat of Vikramaditya ? Hast thou never desired 

to bear rule over kingdoms that were not thine 

own " ? And the countenance of the stone angel 

was full of sorrow. 

At these words the King felt as if a light had 

blazed up within him, and shown him a long 

array of tyrannical wishes. He knew that his 

own life was unjust. After a long pause he 

" No," he " said, I am not worthy." 

spoke. 

" Fast and pray yet three days," said the angel, 

" that thou mayest purify thy will, and make good 

thy right to seat thyself thereon." And with 

these words it 

spread its wings and flew away.


And when the King lifted 

up his face, the place of 

the speaker was empty, and only twenty-four 

figures supported the marble slab. 

And so there was another three days of royal 

retreat, and he prepared himself with prayer and 

with fasting to come again and essay to sit 

on the 

Judgment-Seat of Vikramaditya. 

But this time it was even as before. Another 

stone angel addressed him, and asked him a 

question which was yet more " searching. Hast 

thou never" " 

it said, coveted the riches of 

another ? " 

And when at last he spoke and said, 

" Yea, 

I 

have done this thing ; 

I am not worthy to sit on 

the Judgment-Seat of Vikramaditya ! " the angel 

commanded him to fast and pray yet another 

three days, and spread 

its 

wings and flew away 

into the blue. 

At last four times twenty-four days had gone, 

and still three more days of fasting, and it was 

now the hundredth day. Only one angel was 

left supporting the marble slab, and the King drew 

near with great confidence, for to-day he felt sure 

of being allowed to take his place. 

But as he drew near and prostrated, the last 

angel spoke : " Art thou, then, perfectly pure in 

heart, O King 

? " it said. " Is thy will like unto 

that of a little child ? If so, thou art indeed 

worthy to sit on this seat " 

!


" No," said the King, speaking very slowly, and 

once more searching his own conscience, as the 

judge examines the prisoner at the bar, 

great sadness ; 

" no, I am not worthy." 

And at these words the angel flew up 

but with 

into the 

air, bearing the slab upon- his head, so that never 

since that day has it been seen upon the earth. 

But when the King came to himself and was 

alone, pondering over the matter, he saw that 

the 

last angel had explained the mystery. Only he 

who was pure in heart, like a little child, could be 

perfectly just. That was why the shepherd boy 

in the forest could sit where no king in the 

world might come, on the Judgment-Seat of 

Vikramaditya.

Prithi Rai, 

Last of the Hindu 

Knights 

(THE INDIAN ROMEO AND JULIET) 

NOW in the days of the old Hindu knighthood of 

India, there were four great cities where strong 

kings lived, who claimed that between them they 

ruled the whole of the country. And some of 

these cities 

you can find on the map quite easily, 

for three of them at least are there to this day. 

They were Delhi, Ajmere, Guzerat, and Kanauj, 

and one of them, Guzerat, 

is now known as 

Ahmedabad. 

The King who sat on the throne of Delhi was 

the very flower of Hindu knights. Young, handsome, 

and courageous, a fearless horseman and a 

brave fighter, all the painters in India painted the 

portrait, 

and all the 

minstrels sang the praises, of 

Prithi Rai ; 

but loudest of all 

sang his own dear 

friend, Chand, the court-bard of Delhi. 

Prithi Rai's life had not been all play by any 

means. His duty, as a king, was greater than 

that of other knights, since he had of course 

to defend his people. And already he had had

PRITHI RAI 289 

to fight great battles. For across the border 

lived a Saracen people under a chief called 

Mahmoud of Ghazni, and six times this chieftain 

had invaded India, and six times Prithi Rai 

had met and overcome him. Only, fighting as 

a good knight should, for glory and not for 

greed, each time he had conquered him he had 

also set him free, and Mahmoud had gone home 

again. And the last of these battles had been 

fought at Thaneswar, where the Afghan was badly 

wounded. 

Just at this time, it very unfortunately happened 

that the King of Ajmere died, and left no son or 

grandson 

to succeed him. But he had had a 

daughter who had married the King of Delhi, 

and Prithi Rai was her son. So, as the old 

man had no son's son to leave his throne to, 

it seemed natural enough 

daughter's son, Prithi 

to leave it to his 

Rai, who thus became King 

of Delhi and Ajmere, and in this 

way the most 

powerful monarch in India. But this made one 

man very angry. The King of Kanauj claimed 

that he ought to have had Ajmere, for he had been 

married to a sister of the old King. Probably he 

had always been jealous of Prithi Rai, but now he 

began to hate him with his whole heart. 

In all countries it 

always has been believed 

that the bravest knight should wed the fairest 

lady. Now in the India of that day 

it was 

T

2 9o CRADLE TALES OF HINDUISM 

accepted on all hands that Prithi Rai was the 

bravest knight, but, alas, every one also knew 

that the most beautiful princess 

in the world 

was the daughter of Kanauj ! She was tall, 

graceful, and lovely. Her long, thick hair was 

black, with a blue light on it, 

and her large 

eyes were like the black bee moving in the petals 

of the white lotus. Moreover, it was said that 

the maiden was as high-souled and heroic as she 

was beautiful. 

So Prithi Rai, King of Delhi, determined to win 

Sanjogata, Princess of Kanauj and daughter of his 

mortal foe, for his own. How was it to be done ? 

First he went to his old nurse who had brought 

him up. He prostrated himself before her and 

touched her feet, calling her " Mother," and she, 

with a smile, first 

put her fingers under his chin, 

and then kissed her own hand. For so mothers 

and children salute each other in India. Then the 

King sat down on the floor before her, and told 

her all that was in his heart. 

She listened, and sat without speaking for a few 

minutes when he had finished. " Well," she said, 

after a " while, give me only your portrait. 

I shall 

send you hers. And I can promise you, that when 

you win your way to the girl's side, you will find 

her just as determined as yourself, to marry no 

one but you." 

That evening the old nurse left Delhi with a


party of merchants bound for another of the royal 

cities. And in her baggage, unknown to her 

humble fellow-travellers, was a tiny portrait on 

ivory of the King. 

It was a week or two afterwards, 

that the ladies of the King's household, at 

took an old woman into their service who 

Kanauj, 

claimed that she had been born at the court of 

Ajmere, and had waited, in 

her childhood, on the 

late Queen of Kanauj. This old lady soon grew 

specially fond of the Princess, and was gradually 

allowed to devote herself to her. In the long, hot 

hours she would sit 

fanning and chatting with her, 

or she would prepare the bath, with its scents and 

unguents, and herself brush the soles of Sanjogata's 

feet with vermilion paint. Or at night, when the 

heat made it difficult to sleep, she would steal into 

some marble pavilion on the roof, and coax the 

Princess to come out there into the starlight, while 

she would crouch by her side, with the peacock's 

fan, and tell her <strong>tales</strong> of Delhi, and of Prithi Rai, 

and his love for her. And often they gazed to- 

o gether at a miniature, which had been sent, said 

' 7 

the old woman, by her hand, to ask if the Princess 

would deign to it. 

accept For as we all have 

guessed, of course, 

it was the old nurse of Prithi 

Rai's mother, and of Prithi Rai himself, who was 

here, serving the maiden whom he hoped to make 

his bride. 

In a few months, came the time when the King


of Kanauj must announce his daughter's marriage. 

And he determined to call a swayamvara, that is, 

a gathering of princes and nobles, amongst whom 

the princess might come and choose her husband. 

She would carry a necklace of flowers in her hand, 

and heralds would go before. At each candidate's 

throne as they came to it, the praises of that prince, 

and all his great deeds in battle and tournament, 

would be declared by the heralds. Then the 

Princess would pause a moment, and if she decided 

that this was the knight whom she desired to 

choose for her husband, she would signify the 

fact by throwing her garland round his neck. 

And then the swayamvara would turn into a 

wedding, and all the rival princes would take 

their places as guests. This was a ceremony 

only used for a royal maiden, and naturally no 

one was ever asked whom it would not be desirable 

for her to choose. 

In this case, invitations were sent to the kings 

and princes of all the kingdoms, save only of 

Delhi, 

princess 

and all 

India knew that the most beautiful 

in the world was about to hold her 

swayamvara. 

This was the time for Prithi Rai to act. So he 

and his friend Chand, the court-bard, disguised 

themselves as minstrels, and rode all the way to 

Kanauj, determined to be present at the swayamvara, 

whatever it 

might cost.


At last the great day dawned, and Sanjogata 

made ready for the bridal choice. Very sad at 

heart was she, for she knew not what the day 

might bring forth, only she was sure that of her 

own free will she would marry none but Prithi Rai, 

and he had not even been asked to the ceremony. 

The insult thus done to the knight of whom 

she dreamed, burned like fire in the heart 

of the Princess, and she wondered contemptuously 

which of the princes whom she would 

meet in the hall of choice, could dare to stand 

before the absent King 

of Delhi on the field of 

battle. And something of her father's own pride 

and courage rose in her against her father himself, 

as the hour drew near for the swayamvara to open. 

Yet behind all this lay the dull misery of the 

question, What could she possibly do to announce 

her silent choice in the absence of the hero ? A 

princess might choose amongst those present, but 

to speak the name of one who was absent would 

be a fall unheard of from the royal dignity 

! How 

the brow of the Rajput maiden throbbed as they 

bound on it the gold fillets of her marriage-day 1 

How the wrists burned, on which they fastened 

the bridal ornaments ! And the feet and ankles, 

loaded with their tiny golden bells, which would 

tinkle as their owner walked, like " running water " 

in the bed of the streamlet, how glad they would 

have been to carry Sanjogata away into seclusion,


where she might do anything 

rather than face the 

ordeal before her ! 

At last, however, the dreaded hour had come. 

Seated on thrones in the hall of choice, the long 

array of knights and princes held their breath as 

they caught the first distant sounds of the blare 

of trumpets preceding the princess. Nearer and 

nearer came the heralds, and so silent was the 

company that presently, underneath all the noise 

and clang of the procession without, could be 

heard distinctly, throughout the great hall, the 

tinkle of anklets, and they knew that the queen 

of that bridal day was approaching. 

As for Sanj ogata herself, as with slow footsteps 

and bent head she paced along the pathway from 

the castle to the doorway of the hall, she saw no 

one amongst the many thousands, on foot and on 

horseback, beside the path. Had she but once 

looked up, the whole scene would have been 

changed for her, and in a moment she might have 

made her choice. But this was not to be. Lower 

and lower bent the head of the royal maiden beneath 

her long rich veil. 

Tighter and tighter 

were clasped the hands that with their firm hold 

on the marriage-garland, hung down before her. 

And slower and slower were the footsteps with 

which she drew near to the hall of choice, till 

she had reached the door itself. But there the 

proud daughter of kings raised her head high,


to lower it never again. For one moment she 

paused, startled, dismayed, incredulous, and then, 

with flushed cheeks and haughty air, drawing 

herself up to her full height, she entered the 

hall of choice with perfect calm. For here at 

the entrance to the pavilion stood a grotesque 

wooden figure of the King of Delhi, made to 

stand like a doorkeeper, to wait at the marriage 

of the chosen knight. At first 

Sanjogata could 

not believe her own eyes. The image was 

hideous, mean, and dwarfish, but it was unmistakably 

intended for Prithi Rai. Had it not 

been insult enough to the gallant knight that his 

name had been omitted from the list of guests, 

that Kanauj should add to this the madness of 

mockery 

? Yet so it was. And as soon as she 

had realised the it, daughter of the King knew also 

her own part in the day's great ceremonies, and 

whatever might be the outcome for herself, she 

would play 

it to the end. The princes rose to 

their feet as the veiled maiden entered, and then 

sat down once more on their various thrones. 

The heralds fell back at the entrance, making 

room now for the Princess to precede them. And 

then, with slow firm steps, she, whose each footfall 

was music, passed on from throne to throne, 

waiting quietly for the questioning cry of her own 

heralds, and the answering salutation of those 

about the enthroned prince, before she could


listen to the tale of brave deeds by which each 

bard sought to glorify his own master in the eyes 

of the fair lady. But at each throne, after 

patiently listening, after giving every opportunity 

to its adherents to urge their utmost, the veiled 

Princess paused a moment and passed on. And 

something in her bearing of quiet disdain told each 

behind her, that she required more 

whom she left 

of the knight she would choose than he had yet 

attained. 

But the sadness of disappointment gave 

place to astonishment, as Sanjogata drew near to 

the last throne, and stood listening as patiently 

and as haughtily as ever. This prince, 

as all 

thought, she must perforce accept. Round his 

neck she must throw the marriage-garland. With 

veil knotted to his cloak, she must at his side step 

forward to the sacred fire. These things she must 

do, 

for now there was no alternative. Yet none 

of these things did the daughter of the King 

attempt. Her slender form looked right queenly, 

and even beneath her veil her courage and 

triumph were plain to be seen as she turned her 

back on the whole assembly, as if to pass out of 

the hall of choice, and then stood a moment in 

the open doorway, and 

threw the garland round 

the neck of the caricature of Prithi Rai ! 

Her father, seated at the end of the hall, high 

above the guests, sprang to his feet with a 

muttered oath ! From the marriage-bower to


the darkness of the dungeon, was this the choice 

that his daughter would make ? What else could 

she mean by such a defiance ? But scarcely had 

he strode a foot's length from his place when a 

tall horseman from amongst the crowd was seen to 

stoop down over the form of the Princess, and, 

lifting her to his saddle, gallop off out of sight, 

followed by another. For Prithi Rai and his 

friend Chand had not failed to be present at 

Sanj Ogata's swayamvara, knowing well that though 

the King of Delhi was not amongst the guests, yet 

no other than he to whom her heart was given 

would be chosen by the peerless daughter of 

Kanauj. 

And then the festive hall became the scene of 

a council of war. The King of Kanauj swore a 

mighty oath that to the enemies of Delhi he would 

henceforth prove a friend. The outraged princes 

added their promises to his, and runners were sent 

across the border with letters to Mahmoud of 

Ghazni, offering him the alliance of Kanauj in his 

warfare against Prithi Rai. The day that had 

dawned so brightly went down in darkness 

amidst mutterings of the coming storm. For 

the wedding day of Sanjogata was to prove the 

end of all the ages of the Hindu knighthood. 

A year had passed. To Prithi Rai and his 

bride it had passed like a dream. Amongst the


gardens and pavilions of the palace they had 

wandered hand in hand. And Prithi Rai, lost 

in his happiness, had forgotten, as it seemed, 

the habits of the soldier. Nor did Sanjogata 

remember the wariness and alertness that are 

of rich 

proper to great kings. It was like a cup 

wine drunk before death. Yet were these two 

right royal souls, and knew well how to meet the 

end. Suddenly broke the storm of war. Suddenly 

came the call to meet Mahmoud of Ghazni 

on the field of action. And then, without a tear, 

did Sanjogata fasten her husband's armour, and 

buckle on his sword, and kiss the royal jewel that 

she was to place in the front of his helmet. And 

while the battle raged around the standard of 

Delhi, she waited, cold and collected in the palace. 

What had she to fear ? The funeral fire stood 

if 

ready, the worst news should come. Not for 

her to see the downfall of her country. Was she 

not the daughter and the wife of kings ? 

Hours passed away, and ever on and farther 

onwards rolled the tide of battle on one side 

the infuriated Kanauj, fighting by the side of the 

alien in faith and race, and on the other Prithi 

Rai with his faithful troops. Splendidly fought 

the adherents of the King of Delhi. But in the 

end the advantage of numbers prevailed, and 

Prithi Rai fell, pierced to the heart, at the foot of 

his own banner.


It was dark when they brought the news to 

Sanjogata, waiting in the shadows of the palace. 

But red grew the night with the funeral fire, when 

she had heard. For her eye brightened when 

they told her, and her lips smiled. "Then must 

I haste to my lord where he awaits me," said this 

Rajput queen gaily, and with the words she sprang 

into the flames. 

So passed away the old Hindu kings and queens 

of Delhi, and all 

things were changed in India, 

and Mohammedan sovereigns reigned in their 

stead.

A CYCLE FROM THE 

MAHABHARATA

The Story 

of Bhishma and the 

Great 

War 

FOR sixty miles outside " the rose-red walls " of 

modern Delhi, the plain 

is strewn with ruins. 

Broken columns and huge masses of 

masonry lie 

there, as if they had been tossed about by giants 

in their play. Here and there is some stone 

pillar or other monument of special importance. 

Such is the marble - screened enclosure where a 

gentle Moslem princess sleeps her last sleep, 

amidst the bright sunlight and the chasing 

shadows. Such is the lofty pillar of Asoka, 

with its inscription, and such is the old walled 

town of Indraprastha, 

the gates of the present fortress. 

three or four miles from 

It is a strange old place. The few inhabitants 

of to-day live, something 

of milk, in a top layer 

like the cream in a bowl 

of streets and houses. The 

cottage-yard in which one watches rice parching, 

or clothes being hung out to dry, 

the roof of an older dwelling, and that perhaps on 

is made on 

another. So that after one has rambled awhile 

through Indraprastha it becomes easy 

303 

to believe


that the city is ancient, and even to imagine that 

it 

may first have been built by King Yudisthira, 

four or five thousand years ago. 

For that is the claim, that Indraprastha was 

first built before the Great War broke out, by the 

Pandava heroes, Yudisthira and his four brothers, 

and that it was their capital until the day when all 

their enemies were slain, and they went in state to 

Hastinapura, near the modern Meerut, to reign as 

sovereigns over the whole country. 

What a district it is ! 

Rome, with all her ruins, 

is not so old, nor so imposing. From Thaneswar, 

fifty miles to the west of Delhi, to Meerut, thirty 

miles to the north, the whole country 

is covered 

with the remains of ancient buildings, and the 

memories of ancient war. Many 

times has the 

supremacy of India been decided on this spot, 

once by Yudisthira, in the battle of Kurukshetra, 

again by Prithi Rai and Mahmoud of Ghazni, and 

many times since then, even down to the other 

day. 

But it is far away from these last, back into the 

twilight of time, that we wish to go back as far 

as those early days of the Pandava knights, and 

their cousins the Kurus, when the country was 

known as " Maha Bharata," Great India, because 

she was the mother of heroes, and their deeds 

were the deeds of the great. In those days, the 

chief of both clans alike was Bhishma, " the

THE STORY OF BHISHMA 305 

Grandsire," as he was called, and he was equally 

loved and respected by all. He was not the King, 

but, greater still, the maker and director of kings, and 

amidst all the events of that stirring time his form 

looms large on his great battle-charger, like that of 

some mystic Arthur of an earlier age. Bhishma was 

not the King, but he had been born to the throne, 

and of his own free-will had given up his right. 

It had happened in this wise. When he was still 

young, having been brought up in great splendour, 

as the only son, and heir-apparent, of Shantanu the 

King, a strange thing befell. 

His father, the sovereign 

of the country, fell in love with a beautiful maiden, 

who was nothing but a fisherman's daughter 

! 

This fisherman, however, was very fine and 

proud, and would not hear of his daughter 

marrying out of her proper rank. If she did 

this, he said, 

it would only be to bring undeserved 

humiliation upon herself. It was true 

that she would live for the rest of her life in a 

palace, but in that palace who would she be ? 

None would look upon her as the Queen, for no 

son of hers would ever be considered fit to inherit 

the throne. Only 

if her son could be made crownprince, 

instead of Bhishma, would he consent to 

her wedding the King. This meant that the fisherman 

could not take the proposal seriously. So 

strong were all men, in the days of the heroes 1 

Of course the condition named was out of the 

u


question, and as soon as King Shantanu understood 

that the girl's father really meant what he 

said, he withdrew his suit. But it was impossible 

to forget the beautiful maiden herself, and every 

one saw that the King was sad at heart. Even 

the Prince began to notice it, 

and to inquire the 

reason why, 

and after a while he found some 

member of the court to tell him the story. 

How unexpected was the result ! No sooner 

did Bhishma understand the cause of his father's 

sorrow, 

than he called for 

his chariot, and set out 

to visit the house of the fisherman. On arriving 

there, he inquired carefully whether there were 

not some reason for the refusal of marriage, 

other than that which had been assigned. But 

the fisherman assured him that there was not. 

If it had been possible to make his daughter the 

mother of future kings, he would by no means 

have objected to her entering the royal household. 

" Then," said the Prince, " the matter should be 

easily settled, for am I perfectly willing to give up 

all right to the throne, in favour of the children of 

your daughter Satyaki." 

" Ah, Sir," said the fisherman, " it is 

easy for 

you to promise, and easy for you to keep ! I 

believe in your good-will. But you will marry 

some day, and what about your sons ? They 

will not be willing to forego a crown, simply 

" 

because such was your intention !


The Prince saw the truth of these words, and 

quietly determining that his father's happiness was 

dearer to him than all the world besides, he made 

up his mind to another great vow. " I 

promise 

you," he said, "that I shall never marry. So I 

can never have a child to lay claim to the 

succession. And now, will you allow me to 

take your daughter to my father " ? 

The fisher-maiden was led forth veiled, and the 

Prince saluted her as his mother, and placed 

her in his own chariot. Then, taking the place 

of the charioteer, he gathered up the reins, 

and drove straight to the doorway 

of the 

palace. 

Shantanu could hardly believe his eyes, when 

the bride that he had desired was led 

before him, 

by the son for whose sake he had silently renounced 

her. But when he understood how 

and why she had come, he felt a sudden awe of 

the selflessness of his own child, and named him for 

the first time " Bhishma, the Terrible," blessing 

him with a wonderful blessing. " Go forth, my 

son," said the King, "knowing that as long as 

thou shalt desire to live, none can ever endanger 

thy 

life. Death himself shall never be 

able to approach thee, without first 

obtaining thine 

own consent." The blessing of father or mother 

always creates destiny, and long, long afterwards 

Bhishma, on his lonely death-bed beside the lake of


Kurukshetra, was to prove the truth of the King's 

words. 

From this time on the life of the Prince was 

half that of a monk. Full of knightly deeds he 

was, but, like some great knight-templar, no act 

was performed for his own benefit, but always for 

the safety of his order or the commonwealth. It 

was his 

part to crown kings and then serve them, 

protecting their kingdoms for them. Satyaki the 

Queen had two sons, but one died young, in the 

early years of her widowhood, and it seemed as if 

the royal line might become extinct. With tears, 

then, she, now the Queen-mother, but once a simple 

fisher-maiden, implored Bhishma the Prince to 

marry, releasing him over and over again from 

his promise. 

But nothing would induce him to break his 

vow. Instead, he went, 

like a monk clad in 

armour, to the swayamvara of the princesses of 

a neighbouring kingdom, and challenged 

all the 

other guests to fight. 

Then he won each duel in 

turn, and ended by carrying off the three daughters 

of the King, to be the wives of Satyaki's son. 

With breathless pride and admiration had the 

royal maidens watched the prowess of the strange 

knight. His strength was indeed terrible. Every 

antagonist went down before him. And his 

armour shone in the sunlight with gold and 

jewels. But the eldest of the three sisters turned

pale, 


as one after another each combatant was 

beaten, and it became evident that they were to 

have no choice at all at their swayamvara. 

At last they all set out for Hastinapura, and 

the warrior, who at the tournament had been 

invincible in his might, came riding beside their 

litters, and chatting gaily with them through the 

curtains. So gentle and so courtly was he in his 

bearing, that presently, with many blushes and 

some sighs, the eldest princess turned to speak with 

him of a secret sorrow. She and a certain king had 

long, she said, felt love for one another, and had 

secretly plighted their word to choose and be chosen 

at the bridal feast. But now the strong arm that 

had won them all, to be the brides of Hastinapura, 

was parting her and her betrothed for ever. 

The knightly Bhishma did all he could to oifer 

comfort to the poor bride, and secretly sent messengers 

to summon her lover to the court. So, a 

few days later, when the wedding was commencing 

and brides and bridegroom were bidden to take 

their first 

look at each other, for the lucky moment 

was come, it was only the two younger sisters, 

who, opening their eyes shyly, found the King of 

Hastinapura before them. But, alas, the affianced 

husband of the eldest princess was not there, as 

Bhishma had hoped and striven to have him. 

For he regarded his betrothed as now wedded

3 io CRADLE TALES OF HINDUISM 

to another, and refused to come and take her to 

himself. And she, poor lady, feeling unspeakably 

dishonoured by this refusal, but unable to 

be angry with the prince whose name she loved, 

prayed earnestly to the gods to let her, girl as 

she was, become a knight, that she might some 

day 

meet Bhishma face to face on the field of 

And her prayer 

battle, and bring about his death. 

was granted. And so, from this day onwards, 

the dark shadow of destiny lay 

ever across the 

path of the great and knightly warrior, and the 

footsteps of death were never far off from him. 

Now the young King of Hastinapura lived 

happily with his two queens for seven years. 

Then he died, and they were left widows. But 

they had three sons Dritarashtra the Blind, 

Pandu the Pale, and Vidura the Just. So once 

more Bhishma was left with the education of 

princes who were not his sons, and the care of 

a kingdom that was not his own, upon his hands. 

He found wives for Dritarashtra and for Pandu, 

and bestowed the royal domains on them. 

It is told of Gandhari, the princess of Gandhara, 

or Afghanistan, 

1 

bride of the blind King Dritarashtra, 

that, when she heard of his infirmity, 

she bound her own eyes also with many folds of 

cloth, and vowed to remain thus sightless through- 

1 

Gandhara was a country bordering on, and in part including, 

Afghanistan.

out her life. 


For she could not bear to enjoy the 

light from which her husband was shut out. 

The wife of Pandu the Pale was known as Pritha 

or Kunti, and she became the mother of the five 

Pandavas, as they were called, Yudisthira, Bhima, 

Arjuna, and the twins Nakula and Sahadeva. 

Every one loved these boys, for they were full of 

great qualities, and the heart of Bhishma was 

the eldest of all 

glad, for he saw that Yudisthira, 

the princes, had in him the making of a perfect 

king. Prince Pandu, the father, died suddenly in 

the forest, and Dritarashtra declared that the 

young Yudisthira should be regarded henceforth 

as the heir to both kingdoms. 

But, alas, amongst the two families of Pandavas 

and Kurus, that called Bhishma Grandsire, there 

was one false heart that of Duryodhana, head of 

the Kurus and eldest of the hundred and one 

children of Dritarashtra the King ! 

All the princely cousins had grown up side by 

side ; they had had the same lessons ; they had 

played together. But the strength of Bhima, 

second of the Pandavas, was so great that, unaided, 

he could hold any ten of the Kurus under 

water at the same time. This of itself 

angered 

Duryodhana, and he could obtain no redress, for 

Bhima always won the victory again. But it was 

not only Bhima. The young 

specially beloved for his gentleness 

Yudisthira was 

and heroic

3i2 


uprightness, and Arjuna threw himself with such 

devotion into every task that he was the most 

skilful archer of them all, and the favourite of 

their tutor, 

Drona, the Brahmin. 

Perhaps it was natural that the young chief of 

the Kurus should be made jealous by 

all this 

brilliance. But it was not knightly. Duryodhana, 

indeed, had courage and skill and princely daring, 

but not the sunny temper and generous heart of 

the true knight. There was a vein of treachery 

and skilful cunning in him, and he was too 

remorseless an enemy to be a perfect friend. 

Long, long afterwards, when Bhishma lay dying, 

and when all his life was passing in review before 

him, as it does before the eyes of dying men, he 

could look back on the youth of these children of his 

house, and trace clearly the growth of the hatred that 

had led to the Great War. Every year of Duryodhana's 

life had added to its bitterness, and he had 

been unscrupulous in striving to satisfy his enmity. 

Once he had tried to poison Bhima, and had 

almost succeeded, but the Prince had recovered, 

after eight days of a deathlike swoon. Again, he 

had formed a dastardly plot to entrap the Pandavas 

and their mother into a lonely house and set it on 

fire. 

This conspiracy also had seemed to succeed, 

yet by the warning of Vidura, their uncle, the 

little company had escaped and taken shelter in 

the cottage of a village potter.


It was at this very time, when all things were 

against them, that the real greatness of these 

princes had been proved. For they had attended 

the swayanivara of the daughter of Drupada, King 

of Panchala, and, beggars as they seemed, had 

carried off the Princess, in face of all the splendour 

and wealth of India's sovereigns. 

The bride, Draupadi, proved, as does always the 

be the good 

perfect wife, to 

star of the house into 

which she had thus entered. Amongst other things, 

at the bridal tournament itself, they had for the 

first 

time become aware of one whom to know and 

love was like 

winning the vision of the Holy Grail. 

High up amongst the royal guests, beside His 

Uncle, the King of the Vrishnis, stood a form, dark 

almost as the midnight sky, and clad in yellow. 

It was the Lord Krishna the Holy Knight. And 

He, looking down upon the five brothers, was not 

deceived by their humble garb, but knew at once 

who and what they were. 

Above all, He saw in Arjuna that one soul 

destined to behold the wondrous vision of Himself 

as the Universal Form. 

His ears the words of the hymn of 

Already there sounded in 

adoration, that 

would be associated with his name through all ages. 

" Hail to Thee ! hail ! a thousand times, hail ! 

" 

and again and again, hail to Thee ! 

Arjuna 

would sing, in the midst of illumination on the 

battlefield. 

" Victory to thee in the east, and

3H 


victory in the west Victory through 

all the Universe 

be Thine ! For infinite in power, and ! infinite 

in will, pervading all, Thou art the All." And 

then, faltering with excess of memory, the chant 

would tremble and change, and the worshipper 

would cry "What in the past 

I have ignorantly 

uttered, from irreverence or from love, calling upon 

Thee as


prastha for that part of the realm that was 

given to Yudisthira was wild and covered with 

jungle, lying towards the Jumna. Yet such were 

the patience and industry of the young heroes, 

and such the skill of the eldest in good government, 

that it was not long before they had erected 

this mighty city, with foundations so deep, that 

ages would pass and leave the walls still standing ; 

with fortifications so strong that armies would 

never be able to destroy it ; 

and with a site so 

well chosen that over it, 

or some city near by, 

should always float the standard of India's rulers. 

All these things did Bhishma remember. 

And when they were well established in their 

new capital, the Pandavas had laid all the surrounding 

kings 

under tribute, and proclaimed the 

Royal Sacrifice, where fealty should be sworn. 

And Bhishma smiled, as the imperial pageant 

passed before his eyes. 

But the splendours of Indraprastha, 

and the 

proud ceremonies of the Homage of Vassals, had 

inflicted countless new wounds on the jealous 

heart of Duryodhana, so that he determined in 

his wrath to compass the ruin of his cousins. 

And the cheeks of the dying chieftain were 

crimsoned with shame and sorrow, as he remembered 

how the son of Dritarashtra had consulted 

eagerly with the false-hearted and cowardly 

as to the method of his treachery. At last a


brother of Gandhari the Queen, suggested that 

he should challenge Yudisthira to a game 

of dice 

with himself, he being skilful at play and that 

the Kuru dice should be loaded, that he might 

lead the Pandavas to the loss of all their possessions 

under the semblance of a game. 

It was 

well known that the young Emperor loved gambling, 

though he showed little skill, and that a 

formal challenge to throw for the stakes was 

deemed by him as sacred as the call to battle. 

The message was duly issued and received, and 

the Pandava heroes, with Draupadi, set out for Hastinapura, 

to play the fatal game. For a moment, 

Yudisthira was startled, to find, on his arrival, that 

Duryodhana himself would not be his antagonist. 

Then he recalled the form of the challenge, and 

realising that honour demanded acceptance of 

any odds, he staked and threw. Staked, threw, 

and lost, alas ! 

Again he tried, with larger risks. 

Then the fever of the gamester came upon him. 

It never occurred to him that the play was false. 

Again and again he threw, always with odds 

increased and always the game went against him. 

till 

in one short hour he who had entered Hastinapura 

as Overlord of all India, stood beggared 

and a bondsman, beside four brothers, who, with 

his wife, were all 

alike the slaves of Duryodhana. 

It was now that the first of the Kurus committed 

his most unknightly deed. A younger


brother was sent to the Queen's apartments, to 

bring Draupadi into 

the presence of the gamblers. 

Insulting hands were laid upon her beautiful hair, 

and she was dragged, resisting, into the Court. 

The head, 

it must be remembered, is always sacred, 

and surely doubly inviolable should Draupadi's 

have been, having so lately been sprinkled with 

anointing water, in her husband's coronation. 

The riotous scene progressed. Thinking to 

complete the degradation of the Pandavas, but 

really working to invoke ruin on themselves, the 

same rude hands that had just been laid in 

sacrilege on the hair of the Queen, now attempted 

to snatch away her sari, that she might stand in 

this public place unveiled. But Draupadi called 

on Krishna in her heart, and clung to His name, 

and lo, the scarf and veil that were being plucked 

from her, were miraculously multiplied, and 

hundreds upon hundreds of such garments were 

thrown aside by the despoilers, yet was not the 

Queen for one moment disrobed Against their 

! 

own will, these disorderly men of the royal household 

stood covered with shame, while the wrathful 

Pandavas touched the depths of silent misery and 

of Yudisthira. 

defeat, bound by the pledges 

At this very moment there was a sudden hush, 

and all rose to their feet, for the old blind 

Dritarashtra, summoned by Bhishma, was being 

led, trembling, into his son's presence. Tears

3 i8 CRADLE TALES OF HINDUISM 

rained from his sightless eyes, 

as he stretched 

out his hands in appeal to Duryodhana. 

" My son ! my son ! is this madness ? " he 

cried. 

" Forget you that as a mother's blessing 

works a man's greatest good, so a woman's sorrow 

brings him supreme woe ? 

Why should you outrage 

this proud and helpless queen, unless, indeed, 

ye be wearied of the good days, and desire to 

bring destruction on " 

your father and his house ? 

And then, as if 

in a vain desire to mitigate the force 

of the coming doom, by winning some measure 

of goodwill from the hapless woman, the old man 

turned himself to Draupadi, " Speak, my daughter 1" 

he commanded " tremulously. Name three boons 

that I can grant to you. This at least remains, that 

7 am free to restore whatever you may ask " 

! 

The heroic consort of the Pandavas drew herself 

up 

to her full height, 

and the clear cold tones 

the hall. 

of her wonderful voice rang through 

" I speak, O King, as a free woman," she began, 

" for he who has sold himself into slavery has 

no power 

over the free to 

make them bondsmen. 

Yudisthira first bartered his own freedom, therefore 

could he claim no control over his wife's ! 

" 

The King nodded his assent, and Draupadi went 

on. " I demand, then, the freedom of Yudisthira, 

that no son of mine henceforth may have to 

" 

claim a slave for his father ! 

"Granted," said Dritarashtra briefly. 

"Ask again."


" Next," said Draupadi, " I 

beg 

the same for 

his four brothers, with all their weapons." 

11 

This I also grant," said the blind King ; 

" and 

what is 

your demand in " 

gold and other wealth ? 

" Nay," said the stately Draupadi, with a flash 

of mingled scorn and pride, " I ask no more ! 

The Pandavas, being free, can right themselves 

" 

they need owe no man anything 

! 

Dritarashtra shuddered, 

as if a cold blast had 

swept over him, even while he bent before the 

courage of the Queen. For her refusal to accept 

his amends seemed to him as a terrible curse 

upon his house. But Duryodhana's soul had become 

blinder by reason of his enmity, than were 

the bodily eyes of his two parents. He pressed 

forward eagerly. 

" Nay, O my father " ! he cried, thrusting himself 

before Dritarashtra, 

" I also will consent to 

this restoration if thou wilt grant me but one 

condition more ! Let these Pandavas and their 

wife go forth free, but let them live in the forests, 

as a forfeit, for twelve years, and spend their 

thirteenth year in disguise, wherever they will. 

the end of these thirteen years, 

if 

they are not dis- 

let them be indeed 

covered by me or by my friends, 

free. But if in their thirteenth year we track them 

out, another twelve years of exile pays the penalty. 

" 

One throw more of the dice to settle it ! 

All waited, breathless, for the King's answer. 

At


What would he do ? Which side would he take ? 

But a moment before it had seemed as if, with 

Draupadi's help, he might break the spell of disaster 

that Duryodhana's licence was about to cast over 

the royal house. Now the shadow of evil, bringing 

woe behind it, threatened to enwrap them all again. 

Where, and on which side, would the King be found? 

Alas, overborne by his son's impetuosity, Dritarashtra 

nodded consent. Yudisthira accepted the 

challenge, and the fatal dice were once more thrown 

and lost ! 

The Pandava princes saluted the King, and 

turned to go. 

" But," said Dritarashtra, raising 

a warning hand to detain them, and speaking 

loudly in the hearing of all the nobles present, 

" But, 

if 

my son fail to discover your hidingplace, 

then, on the day 

that ends the thirteen 

years, know, O Heroes, that yours is the right to 

return to your home and to your empire, free 

men and princes as but yesterday ye came forth." 

Duryodhana and the little group 

of lawless 

courtiers gathered round him, bit their lips in 

anger at what they 

considered his father's needless 

generosity. But the promise was already spoken, 

and could not be recalled. The five knights were 

gone. And in her distant chamber Pritha was 

saying farewell to her sons for thirteen years. 

These scenes also passed before the eyes of 

Bhishma. He remembered all.


Twelve years of forest life went by, and but 

for Draupadi's mortified pride of womanhood, they 

might have been years of unclouded happiness. 

Great sages, and Krishna Himself, came to visit 

the heroes in their retirement, and often they 

wandered forth on delightful pilgrimages. Once, 

indeed, Duryodhana and his guard, visiting the 

neighbourhood where they chanced to be, fell 

into trouble, and were made prisoners of war. 

Then the Pandava brothers, hearing of their plight, 

sallied forth on a raid of liberation, and enabled 

them to go back to Hastinapura. 

Oh, with what bitterness had Duryodhana come 

home from this expedition Bhishma smiled sadly 

! 

to himself, as the picture of the return passed 

before him. How the Prince had sat upon the 

ground, refusing food, and how at last he only rose, 

as it 

appeared to onlookers, when new hopes and 

plans for vengeance were matured within his heart! 

There was a lonely place in the jungle, where 

men's feet never trod. Here, as the twelve years 

drew to 

an end, Yudisthira and his brothers came, 

with their weapons all wrapped up 

to look like 

corpses, and hung them on the trees ; 

for so it 

was the fashion of those days to do oftentimes 

with the bodies of the dead. Then they sought 

menial employment in the household of a neighbouring 

king, and in this concealment the last 

year passed away. 

X


And now at last the thirteen years were ended, 

and the Pandavas demanded the restoration of 

their kingdom. Alas ! the chief place amongst 

Dritarashtra's counsellors had long been held 

his son. The weakness that 

by that false knight, 

had always had place in Dritarashtra's character 

had grown with the years, 

and he was now completely 

under the influence of Duryodhana. Justice 

called for the cession of Indraprastha and half 

the kingdom. The King's own words were fresh 

in all memories. Krishna Himself pleaded in 

person that right should be done. Bhishma, as 

chief of the kingdom, pointed out sternly the peril 

that lay in breaking a pledge, and declaring war 

on the allies of Krishna. But the awful fate that 

works in the affairs of men had borne everything 

before it. Even now it would seem as if Duryodhana 

might 

have saved himself and his fortunes 

by the simple right. But, infatuated, he refused 

to listen, and proceeded with his organisation of 

the army and other warlike preparations. 

Bhishma 

himself was compelled by his allegiance to take the 

part of commander-in-chief. 

The dying minister and warrior must have 

covered his eyes as he came to this point in his 

reverie. For the panorama of destruction was 

still so fresh that it could scarcely present itself 

in pictures 

: the trumpets of battle, the neighing 

of horses, the trampling of elephants, and


the whiz of arrows were still in his ears. He 

saw now the black doom of the Kurus, created 

by Duryodhana's own tyranny and falsehood, 

gathering to a head, and sweeping the honour of 

Dritarashtra into the gulf of time. 

Here was the actual field of battle, and on it 

the mind could see once more, drawn up in battle 

array, the two great armies, the largest that the 

India of that day had ever seen. On the one side 

were the hosts of Duryodhana, led by Bhishma, 

Drona, and others ; 

on the other, the troops of the 

Pandavas, headed by the five brothers, their sons, 

and their allies. The chariots of the commanders 

were drawn by milk-white horses ; 

over each waved 

a banner, bearing the cognisance of its chief 

Bhishma's was a lofty palm-tree, Arjuna's an 

embroidered monkey ; 

and a lion's tail, a bull, a 

peacock, and an elephant-rope, were amongst the 

devices. In the hands of each hero and his 

charioteer were white conch-shells, to be used as 

trumpets, and on receiving the signal 

for battle 

all would answer by putting these to their lips, 

and blowing on them a mighty blast. Standing 

in their places in either army were the great lines 

of elephants the real walls of ancient India 

and on the neck of each sat his driver, whose life 

was held inviolable in the warfare of that time. 1 

1 

Elephants unguided are apt to be seized by panic, and then they 

will trample all before them indiscriminately.

3 2 4 CRADLE TALES OF HINDUISM 

The combat began. The various divisions 

fought hand to hand in a series of melees. A 

chieftain in one army would single out some 

standard in the other which he particularly desired 

to capture, 

and he and his contingent 

would 

make a rush upon it, 

and fight for its possession 

till all his opponents were dead, or he repulsed. 

So the battle surged to and fro on the broad 

fields of Kurukshetra, for nine whole days. Then 

it became evident to the Pandava brothers that 

they could never hope to win the victory while 

Bhishma the Grandsire remained alive. 

That night, when darkness had descended, and 

the soldiers of both hosts lay chatting round the 

tiny fires on which they had cooked their evening 

meal, the old Protector was startled to see the 

curtain of his tent door lifted noiselessly, and the 

five brothers steal noiselessly into his presence. 

The heart of Bhishma was glad at the sight of 

these men, whom he loved as his own sons, and 

he motioned them to a seat before him. Arjuna 

was perhaps his favourite, but for Yudisthira he 

felt a special responsibility, inasmuch as in his 

hands would always 

lie supreme authority over 

men and kingdoms. 

He waited for them to speak, and at last the 

eldest broke the silence. 

" Grandfather," he said, 

" it is 

impossible for us to achieve victory so long 

as thou remainest leader of the Kuru hosts, and


yet Yama himself, as all 

men know, cannot draw 

near to thee without first 

obtaining thy consent. 

We have come, therefore, to crave from 

thee the permit of death, and to beg the knowledge 

of how we may hope to slay thee. For 

all our attempts during the past nine days have 

failed." 

The aged knight smiled gently. Now indeed 

had the moment of release arrived. He held in 

his own hands power over his own life, and never 

in all these long years 

till now had there been 

a moment in which, without shirking his duty, he 

could have left the world. But here all this was 

changed. For the Doom of the Kurus must 

break, and the Triumph 

of the Pandavas be established, 

and man may not stand in the path of 

events. That same faithfulness that had so long 

bidden him to stay, was now calling 

him to go. 

The hours of servitude were over, the moment of 

rest was nigh at hand. 

" It is true, my child," he said to Yudisthira, " it 

is in vain that you look for victory while I lead 

the Kuru hosts ; 

and neither may you hope to slay 

me while I hold my weapons and fight 

for life. 

Yet there are certain things before which I 

lay 

down my arms. Note them well. Before those 

who are afraid, those who are weak from wounds 

or illness, those who have surrendered to my mercy, 

and any who were born woman, I will not fight.


If you attack me to-morrow from behind one such, 

you will achieve my death." 

Then the five heroes remembered that knight 

named Sikhandin, who had been born a woman, 

and had obtained knighthood by special favour of 

the gods. 

It must be Sikhandin whom Bhishma 

meant. So it was arranged that on the tenth 

day Arjuna should fight from behind this knight, 

piercing Bhishma on every side with arrows. A 

wave of love and fierce remorse swept over the 

young knight as the plans were completed, 

and he 

spoke with broken accents of those days of childhood 

in which he had played about the feet of 

Bhishma, and told how once he had climbed on 

his knee and called him " Father." " Nay, 

little 

one, but thy father s father" had been the tender 

answer. How could one so caressed aim the 

arrow of death at the heart of this beloved 

warrior ? And it was Bhishma himself who had 

at this moment to remind the soldier of his 

knightly duty, and nerve him to the stern performance 

of the morrow's task. 

The day rose bright, and the battle began. 

Bhishma plunged into the struggle, and wherever 

he went, the chariot of Arjuna, with its 

milk-white steeds, pursued him. Sikhandin stood 

foremost, beside Krishna, the Charioteer, and 

Arjuna, from behind the maiden -knight, shot 

arrow after arrow at the head of his house.


Scorning to shoot at one who had been a girl, 

Bhishma would laughingly aim a shaft at Arjuna, 

whenever a sudden turn of the wheels gave him 

a chance. 

As so much play seemed to him those 

darts which clustered thicker and thicker on his 

own person. But when sunset drew near, the hour 

for the mortal wound being come, he received 

an arrow straight in his heart, and fell from his 

chariot to the ground. 

Even now, however, Death could not draw 

near to Bhishma. In the moment of his fall, the 

thought flashed into his mind that he was about 

to die in the dark half of the sun's year, a time 

most unfortunate for great souls, and he determined 

to remain alive six months, that he might 

die in the summer solstice. 

The leaders of both sides crowded round him, 

having doffed their armour in token of truce. 

They would have carried him away to comfortable 

quarters, but he would have none of it. "The 

hero's bed," he " said, is where he falls. I desire 

" 

no other. But I need a pillow 

! He had fallen 

on the broad ends of those arrows which had 

struck him behind, and his shoulders being 

thereby lifted, his head hung down. One and 

another ran and brought him cushions. Their 

luxury was fit for kings. But the old saintwarrior 

shook his head. " " 

Arjuna, child ! he said, 

looking towards him who had provided him with


his hard bed, standing now speechless with grief. 

Arjuna understood the request, and shot three arrows 

downwards into the earth, with such sure aim that 

they made the support the mighty bowman required. 

Bhishma gave a sigh of relief, and ordered that 

a trench should be dug about him, and he be left 

without tent or furnishings, to spend the remaining 

months in solitary worship. Next day, however, 

needing water, he had recourse again to Arjuna 

and his arrows, and a great spring burst forth at 

that place where the soldier shot his bolt into the 

earth, so that the ear of Bhishma was soothed 

with the sound of running water, until the day of 

his actual departure. Such at least is the legend 

of the people concerning the great pond that 

sparkles still on the lonely plain of Kurukshetra. 

Of the remainder of Bhishma's life, 

men speak 

to this day with bated breath. Eight long days 

more the battle raged beside him, and at the end, 

the Doom-cloud of the Kurus had broken, and 

carried all 

away with it, 

and the Triumph of the 

Pandavas was established. For the five brothers 

stood victorious, with all their foes lying slain 

about them. Then the tide of war ebbed away 

from Kurukshetra, and Bhishma, through sunny 

days and starry nights, kept his long vigil, while 

months passed by for the victorious Pandavas, in 

the business entailed 

by victories and the government 

of kingdoms.


At last, however, Yudisthira again a newcrowned 

monarch, but of a wider realm than 

ever was free to turn with his brothers, and 

follow Krishna to where their dying clansman lay. 

The young sovereign desired that he, who had 

seen three generations of kings, should give him 

his blessing, and pass on to him his long-garnered 

lore of statecraft. 

And the Holy Knight Himself laid healing 

hands of coolness and peace on the burning frame 

and anguished wounds of the warrior-saint, so that 

his mind grew as clear and his speech as strong 

as in former years, and he revealed all his wisdom 

to these adopted sons of his old age. 

Fifty days later the Pandavas once more drew 

near to Bhishma, knowing that the time had come 

that he would die. Before he passed away, his 

last whispered blessing was still 

for Yudisthira, left 

to fulfil the heavy task of kings. But he died, 

fixing all his thought on Krishna, and so united 

himself with the Eternal, to live for ever in the 

love and memory of India as Bhishma the Terrible, 

her great and stainless knight, who lived as he 

had died, and died as he had lived, without fear 

and without reproach.

The Ascent of Yudisthira 

into 

Heaven 

To Arjuna, when Krishna passed away, the whole 

earth became a blank. He could no longer string 

his great bow, Gandiva, and his divine weapons 

failed to come to his hand at need, for he could 

not concentrate his mind upon them. Therefore 

he understood that his time was ended. He and 

his 

brothers had accomplished the great purpose 

of their lives. The moment had come for their 

departure from the world. 

For to all is it known that understanding and 

courage and foresight arise in us, only so long as 

the days of our prosperity are not outrun, and all 

alike leave a man, when the hour of his adversity 

strikes. Such things have Time only for their 

root. It is Time, indeed, 

that is the seed of the 

Universe. And verily 

it is Time who takes back 

all at his own pleasure. Arjuna saw therefore 

that to the place whence his invincible weapons 

had come to him, thither had they been withdrawn 

again, having, in the day given them, 

achieved the victories that had been theirs. He

THE ASCENT OF YUDISTHIRA 331 

realised, moreover, 

that when the time for his use 

of them should again approach, they would return 

of their own accord into his hands. Meanwhile, 

it was for himself and his four brothers to set 

their faces resolutely, towards the attainment of 

the highest goal. 

Yudisthira fully agreed with this thought of 

Arjuna. 

" You must see," he said to him, " that 

it is Time who fastens the fetters, and Time 

who loosens the bond." And his brothers, understanding 

the allusion, could utter only the one 

word, " " 

Time ! Time ! The Pandavas and Draupadi, 

being thus entirely 

at one in the decision 

that the empire was over for them, the question 

of the succession was quickly arranged. The entreaties 

of citizens and subjects were overruled ; 

successors and a protector installed in different 

capitals ; 

and farewell was taken of the kingdom. 

Having thus done their duty as sovereigns, 

Yudisthira and his brothers, with Draupadi, turned 

to the performance of personal religious rites. 

Donning coverings of birch bark only, they fasted 

many days and received the blessings of the 

priests. 

Then each took the fire from his domestic 

that fire which had been lighted for him on 

altar, 

his marriage, and kept alight, worshipped, and 

tended ever since by 

his wife and himself in 

person, and threw it into consecrated water. 

This was the last act of their lives in the world,


and as it was performed, and the brothers turned 

themselves to the east, all the women in the 

assembled court burst into tears. But for the 

great happiness which shone now in their faces, 

it would have seemed to all as if the Pandavas 

were once more leaving Hastinapura poor, and 

defeated at dice, for their exile in the forest. 

Followed for some distance by a crowd of citizens, 

and by the ladies of the royal household, the 

little 

procession went forward none, however, daring 

to address the King, or to plead with him for a 

possible return. After a time, the citizens went 

back, and those members of the Pandava family 

who were to be left behind, ranged themselves 

about their new king as a centre. Those of the 

royal consorts who were daughters of reigning 

houses, set forth, accompanied by travelling 

escorts, for their fathers' kingdoms. Those who 

were related to the succeeding sovereign took 

their places behind him ; 

and so, receiving farewells 

and benisons from all, Yudisthira, Bhima, 

Arjuna, and the twins Nakula and Sahadeva, 

looked their last on the world they were leaving, 

and went onward, followed by Draupadi. But 

Yudisthira was in fact the head of a party of 

seven ; 

for hard upon their footsteps followed a 

dog, whose affection for them all was so great 

that he would not desert them. 

Long was the journey and arduous, and it was

THE ASCENT OF YUDISTHIBA 333 

made barefooted, and clad in simple birch bark, by 

these who had but yesterday had at their command 

all the resources of earth. It was their intention 

to practise the life of renunciation in the mountains 

of the far north, but first they would worship 

the land that they were leaving, by travelling 

round it in a ceremonial circle. Nothing had they 

left, save their garments of birch bark. Only 

Arjuna, reluctant to part from them, carried his 

mighty bow Gandiva, and his two inexhaustible 

quivers of arrows. Thus many days passed. 

Suddenly, as the little procession of pilgrims 

reached the shores of the great sea that lies on 

the east, they found their road barred by one 

whose presence was like unto a veritable mountain. 

Closing the way before them stood the 

God Agni, Divinity of the Seven Flames, and the 

Pandavas waited with folded hands to receive his 

commands. 

" From Ocean brought 

I 

Gandiva, O Arjuna," 

said the Devourer of Forests, 

" to thine aid. To 

Ocean again, then, let thy weapons 

be here restored. 

Along with the discus of Krishna, let 

Gandiva vanish from the world. But know that 

when his hour shall again strike, he of his own 

accord will come once more into thine hand ! 

Thus adjured, and urged also by his brothers, 

Arjuna came forward, and standing on the shore, 

hurled into the sea with his own hands his price- 

"


less bow Gandiva, and his two inexhaustible 

quivers. And the God of Fire, satisfied with this 

supreme renunciation, disappeared from before 

them. 

On and on went the pilgrims, until the circle 

of their worship was complete. From the salt 

sea, they proceeded south-west. 

Then they turned 

north, and passing Dwarka, the city beloved of 

Krishna, they saw it covered by the waters of the 

ocean. For even so had it been prophesied, that all 

the things they had known should pass away, like a 

dream. At last they reached the Himalayas, home 

of meditating souls. Here were the great forests, 

and here the mighty snow-peaked mountains, 

where the mind could be stilled and quieted, and 

centred on itself. And beyond, in the dim north, 

lay Meru, Mountain of the Gods. And here it 

was, as they journeyed on, with faces set ever to 

the goal, that all the errors, of all their lives, took 

shape and bore fruit. They had been but small, 

these sins of the Pandavas, a thought of vanity 

here, a vain boast, unfulfilled, there ! Yet small 

as they were, they had been sufficient to flaw 

those lives that without them would have been 

all-perfect, and one by one the heroic pilgrims 

turned faint with a mortal faintness, and stopped, 

and fell. 

Only in the clear mind of Yudisthira 

" the King of Justice and Righteousness," as his 

subjects had loved to call him in that clear mind,


with its trained sense of human conduct, rose 

knowledge of its cause, with each disaster that 

befell. 

Even he himself, 

it is said, could not altogether 

escape the common lot of imperfection, and as 

he felt the very pang of death shoot through one 

foot where it touched the earth, he remembered 

a shadow that had fallen once, upon his own 

unstained truth. 

But with him there could be no rebellion 

against the right. He shed no tear, and uttered 

no sigh. Rather did his own purpose shine 

clearer and stronger before him, at each defeat 

of his little party. And thus Yudisthira, not even 

looking back, proceeded alone, followed by the 

dog. 

Suddenly there was a deafening peal of thunder, 

so overwhelming that the two stood still on the 

mountain-side. Then came towards them, as it 

were, a cloud of light, 

and when this had become 

clear, the hero beheld in the midst of it Indra, the 

God of Heaven, standing in his chariot. 

" It is ordained, thou chief of the race of 

Bharata, that thou shalt enter the realm of 

Heaven, in this thy human form. Wherefore do 

thou herewith ascend this chariot," said the god. 

" Nay, Lord of a thousand Deities " ! answered 

the King, " my brothers have all fallen dead, and 

without them at my side, I have no desire to enter


Heaven. Nor could any one of us, indeed, accept 

felicity, if the delicate Draupadi, our Queen, were 

banished to regions of hardship. Let all therefore 

go in with me." 

" But thou shalt behold them all when thou 

reachest the abodes of blessedness," said the god. 

" Verily they have but ascended there before 

thee. Wherefore yield thee not to grief, 

O Chief 

of the Bharatas ! But rise with me in this thy 

mortal form." 

The King bowed his head in acceptance of the 

invitation, and stood aside to let the dog go first 

into the chariot. 

But Indra intervened. 

"To-day, O King, thou 

hast won immortality 

! 

Happiness and victory 

and a throne like unto my own, 

send away this dog Enjoy what thou hast 

! 

" 

achieved ! 

" How difficult is it to an Aryan," said Yudisthira, 

How could I 

enjoy that prosperity 

had cast off one who was devoted " ? 

are thine. But 

" to do a deed unworthy of an Aryan ! 

for which I 

Said Indra, " For men with dogs there is no 

place in Heaven. Thou art the Just Abandon 

! 

thou this dog In doing this will be no cruelty." 

! 

But Yudisthira answered " slowly, Nay, great 

Indra, to abandon one who has loved us is 

infinitely sinful. Never till my 

life ends shall I 

give up the terrified, nor one who has shown me


devotion, nor those who have sought my protection 

or my mercy, nor any who is too weak to 

protect himself. Never have I done this. Never 

shall I 

stoop to do it. Therefore do I refuse, out 

of mere desire for my own happiness, to abandon 

this dog ! " 

In the King's voice there was no possibility of 

reconsideration. Yudisthira had made up his 

mind. He would not be moved. 

Yet still the Deity argued with him. " By the 

presence of a dog, 

Heaven itself would be made 

unholy ! Thou knowest that his mere glance 

would take away from the consecrated all its 

sacredness. 

foolish ? 

and Draupadi ! 

this dog?" 

Wherefore, O King, art thou then so 

Thou hast renounced thine own brothers 

Why 

shouldst thou not renounce 

tl It is well known," replied Yudisthira, " that 

one cannot but renounce the dead ! For them 

there are neither enemies nor friends. I did not 

abandon my brothers and Draupadi so long as 

they were alive ! I only left them, when I was 

unable to revive them. Not even the frightening 

of one who had sought our protection, nor the 

slaying of a woman, nor stealing from a Brahmin, 

nor treachery to a friend, would now appear 

to me a greater sin than to leave this dog ! " 

And lo, as he finished speaking, the dog vanished, 

and in his place was the radiant presence of 

Y


Dharmma, the God of 

" 

Righteousness. Hail, O 

" 

Yudisthira ! said " he, thou who hast renounced 

the very chariot of the celestials on behalf of a 

dog ! Verily, in Heaven is none equal unto thee ! 

Regions of inexhaustible happiness are thine " 

! 

Then, surrounded by the chariots of the gods, 

Yudisthira the Just, the King of Righteousness, 

seated on the car of glory, ascended into Heaven 

in his mortal form. And entering, he was met 

by all the Immortals, eager 

to welcome him to 

their midst, eager to praise him as he deserved. 

But Yudisthira, looking round and seeing nowhere 

his brothers or Draupadi, said only, " Happy or 

unhappy, whatever be the region that is now my 

brothers', to that, and nowhere else, do I desire 

to go!" "But why," remonstrated Indra, "dost 

thou still cherish human affections ? 

Thy brothers 

also are happy, each in his own place. Verily, I 

see that thou art but mortal. Human love still 

binds thee. Look, 

! 

this is Heaven Behold around 

thee those who have attained to the regions of the 

" 

gods ! 

But Yudisthira answered, " Nay, Conqueror of 

the Demons ! I cannot dwell apart from them. 

Wherever they have gone, thither, and not elsewhere, 

will I also " 

go ! 

At this very moment the King's eyes, sweeping 

Heaven again, in his first eager search for those 

he loved, caught sight, 

first of Duryodhana, then of

THE ASCENT OF YTJDISTHIRA 339 

his foe's brothers, and finally of the whole hundred 

and one sons of Dritarashtra, blazing like 

the sun, 

wearing all the signs of glory that belong to heroes, 

and seated on thrones like gods. At this sight, 

Yudisthira was filled with rage. 

" I will not," he 

shouted in anger, 

" dwell even in the regions of 

happiness with the vain and reckless Duryodhana ! 

For him were our friends and kinsmen slaughtered. 

By him was the Queen insulted. Listen to me, 

ye gods ! I will not even look upon such as 

these. Let me go there, whither my brothers 

" 

are gone ! 

" But, Great King," said one of those about 

him, smiling at his fury, " this should not be. In 

Heaven do all feuds cease. By pouring himself, 

like an oblation, on the fire of battle, by remaining 

unterrified in moments of great terror, has 

Duryodhana attained to celestial joys. Do thou 

forget thy woes. This is Heaven, O Lord of men ! 

Here there can be no enmity !" 

" If such as he could have deserved this," 

answered Yudisthira, no whit appeased, " what 

must not my friends and kindred have deserved ! 

Let me go to the company of the righteous ! 

What are the celestial regions to me without 

must in itself be 

my brothers ? Where they are, 

Heaven. This place, in my opinion, 

is not so." 

Seeing the King so determined, the gods turned 

and gave orders to the celestial messenger, saying,


l< 

Do them show unto Yudisthira his friends and 

kinsmen," and, turning his face away from the 

regions of blessedness, yet keeping 

still in the world 

of the gods, the divine guide made to do their 

bidding, and went forward, followed by the King. 

Dread and terrible was that road by which they 

now journeyed. Dark and polluted and difficult, it 

was noisome with foul odours, infested with stinging 

insects, and made dangerous and fearful by 

roaming beasts of prey. It was skirted on either 

side by a running fire. In its strange twilight 

could be seen sights of a nameless terror. Here 

and there lay human bones. It seemed to be full 

of evil spirits, and to abound in inaccessible fastnesses 

and labyrinthine paths. 

On went the messenger of the gods, 

and on 

behind him followed the King, his mind every 

moment sinking deeper and deeper into thoughts 

of anguish. At last they reached a gloomy region, 

where was a river, whose waters appeared to boil, 

foaming, and throwing up clouds of vapour. The 

leaves of the trees, moreover, were sharp like 

swords. Here also were deserts of fine sand, 

luminous to the sight and heated to white heat. 

The very rocks and stones were made of iron. 

There were terrible 

thorns also, and innumerable 

cauldrons filled with boiling oil. In such forms 

did they behold the tortures which are inflicted 

upon sinful men.


Seeing this region of night, abounding thus in 

horror, Yudisthira said to his " guide, How much 

further must we travel along paths 

What world of the gods 

like these ? 

is this ? I command thee 

at once to disclose to me where my brothers are ! " 

The messenger stopped. "Thus far, O King, 

is ! 

your way 

It was the command of the denizens 

of Heaven that, having come to this point, 

I was 

to return. As for yourself, 

if 

you, O Yudisthira 

the Just, should be weary, you have the right of 

" 

return with me ! 

Stupefied by noxious vapours, and with his 

mind sunk in heaviness, the King turned round, 

and took a few steps backwards. As he did so, 

however, moaning voices and sobs broke out in 

the thick darkness about him. " " 

Stay 

! 

stay ! 

sighed the voices. " Our pain 

is lessened by the 

presence of Yudisthira. A sweet breeze, a glimpse 

of light, 

come with thee. O King, leave us not 

" 

this instant ! 

" " Alas ! alas ! said Yudisthira in his compassion, 

and immediately stood still 

amongst these 

souls in Hell. As he listened, however, the voices 

appeared to be strangely familiar. " Who are 

you ? Who are you ? " he exclaimed to one and 

another, as he heard them, and great beads of 

sweat stood on his brow as their unbodied groans 

shaped themselves out of the darkness into answers, 

" Arjuna 

! 

Draupadi ! Kama ! 

" and the rest.


A moment " passed. Duryodhana in Heaven !" 

he pondered, " and these my kinsmen fallen into 

Hell ! Do I 

wake, or dream ? Or is all this some 

disorder of the brain ? What justice can there 

be in the Universe ? 

Nay, for this crime shall 

" 

I abandon the very gods themselves ! At these 

words, uttered within himself by his own mind, 

the wrath of an all-powerful monarch awoke in 

the heart of Yudisthira. "Go !" he thundered in 

" Return thou 

anger, turning himself to his guide. 

to the presence of those whose messenger thou 

art, and make known to them that I return not to 

their side. 

Here, where my brothers suffer, here, 

where my presence aids them, here and no other 

where, do I 

eternally abide " 

! 

The messenger bowed his head, and passed 

swiftly out of sight. Up to high Heaven passed 

he, carrying this defiance of Yudisthira, to Indra, 

Chief of Gods and Men. And the King stood 

alone in Hell, brooding over the unspeakable 

sufferings 

of his kinsfolk. 

Not more than a moment had passed, when a 

cool and fragrant breeze began to blow. Light 

dawned. All the repulsive sights disappeared. 

The boulders of iron, the cauldrons of oil, 

and 

the thorny plants vanished from sight. 

And 

Yudisthira, raising his eyes, saw himself surrounded 

by the gods. 

" These illusions," said 

" 

they, are ended.


Ascend thou to thine own place 

! Hell must 

indeed be seen by every king. Happy are they 

whose good deeds have been so many that they 

first suffer and afterwards enjoy. To thee and to 

these thy kindred, Yudisthira, has Hell been shown 

only by a kind of mirage. 

Come, then, thou royal 

sage, behold here the heavenly Ganges. Plunge 

thou into this Milky Way, and casting off there 

thy human body, divest thyself with it of all 

thine enmity and grief. 

Then rise, O thou of 

never-dying glory ! to join thy 

kinsmen and 

friends and Draupadi, in those blessed regions 

wherein they already dwell, great even as Indra, 

" 

enthroned in Heaven ! 

THE END 

Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & 1 Co. 

Edinburgh & London

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Cradle tales on Hinduism - Swami Vivekananda

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